


The Boy Who Talked To Lions

by Löwenzahn (ultimatebookworm)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Animal Transformation, Curse Breaking, Curses, Fairy Tale Curses, Fluff and Angst, Lotor isn't really a bad guy but he does jump to bad conclusions, M/M, Requited Love, Shiro and Lance fall in love, but not in a furry way, fairytale AU, inspired by Grimm's Six Swans, oh god does this fic make me a furry, shance, that's it that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16179161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatebookworm/pseuds/L%C3%B6wenzahn
Summary: Lance is a spy. He grew up a spy, he was brought to adulthood an assassin. When his team is torn from him, Lance sets out for a whole new life, not knowing that he'll find them again, cursed but not dead.As Lance determines to break the curse his friends suffer under, he will have to face his most difficult mission yet. Even with the team reunited, Lance can't decide if Shiro's presence is a motivation or a distraction, and the deeper he falls for his friend, the less sure he is.His objective: Lift the curse, confess his love and have his happy-ever-after. But the clock is ticking, and it isn't all as straightforward as it seems.





	1. Chapter 1

“You know why I’m so good at my job?” Lance spoke softly, resting his crossbow against a ledge and sighting down it with a calm, steady gaze. He willed his thighs to stop trembling in the crouch, fought for absolute stillness.

“Stop talking and shoot.” Keith replied. Lance just chuckled and breathed deep, slowly easing away the tremble in his fingers. “Are you sure you’re not interested?” He asked softly. “I’d think you’d be taking notes.”

“Take the fucking shot, Lance.” Keith shot back, voice tense and clipped. Lance let out a long breath, body going completely still except for his trigger finger curling gently. A second later, the figure in the hallway keeled over silently. Lance grinned in bright triumph.

“All clear, guys.” He murmured. “Go take her out, I’ll guard the corridor.”

This time it was Shiro’s voice rumbling from the dark shadows behind him. “Great job, Lance.” Lance felt a warm, happy shiver at the praise. After all, who wouldn’t be happy to be complimented by someone like Shiro?

“If we aren’t out in half an hour, you run, got it?” Shiro’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Even through the cold, sinking dread at the thought of his friends not making it out, the terrible clawing fear at the very responsibility, Lance snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” He smirked. Just behind him, with a scuffle and a bare whisper, four figures detached themselves from the dark wall. Shiro stayed in the very front, shadowed by Keith, with Hunk bringing up a watchful back and Pidge in the dead center. They stayed close to the wall, hiding in the shadows between the flickering torches

Pidge crept forward to the door, hurriedly inserting her metal lockpicks, twisting them neatly until the heavy lock clicked.

“Good luck.” Lance muttered to his teammates. Only Hunk looked up towards him, giving him a thumbs up. Without a sound, all four of them disappeared through the door.

 

The first thing Shiro noticed, before the stench, before the dim purple light that suffused everything, was the electric crackle in the air. It made his hair stand on end, sent a sharp scent of iron and burning through him.  He was all too conscious of his teammates next to him, treading silently. Their presence, their _safety_ brought him back to himself, made him finally take in the rest of the room.

It was a tall tower room, almost empty except for tables lining the walls, gleaming and bubbling with potions, and large gleaming metal and wood contraptions the use of which Shiro could only guess at. The floor was littered in chalk and coal markings, some fresh and some old, and some markings even inlaid in colourful, glimmering rock and glass. The entire room glowed with a dim purple light, the source of which was a mystery. And the witch was nowhere to be seen.

Shiro’s teammates barely made a sound as they slipped past him, spreading out around the room. The dull slide of metal echoed through the room, a low hiss, as Keith unsheathed his sword. Shiro gripped his own sword tight in its scabbard. Something wasn’t right.

Something wasn’t...

Shiro’s instincts kicked in suddenly, a roiling wave of unease spilling over into panic. “Get out!” He shouted, the shout echoing in the tower room in the silence, but even as his teammates turned, the druids materialized, soft thumps and the heavy rustle of robes the only sounds they made.

Shiro spun around, towards the door, towards the druid standing before it in masked silence, raising its hands in silent threat. Shiro stumbled back, pulling his sword, and heard the clatter of weapons, the fall of steps as his teammates did the same, stumbled back from the menacing figures.

Shiro’s head whirled. They hadn’t been prepared for _this,_ druids emerging from every corner, the silent crackle of energy spreading out between them. He turned his head, breathing shallow. They were surrounded. There was a grunt behind him, a bright flash and a clash of armour- Keith had attempted to break out of the tight circle, and been thrown bodily back. “Shiro!” Hunk called out. “Shiro, what do we do?”

Shiro didn’t know.

Instead he was edged backwards, the entire scene unsettlingly quiet for an ambush, the only sound his team’s laboured breathing, the slow steps backward until they were back to back, the druids still advancing. He would give anything for some sort of sound, something to break the dreamlike panic, when sound _came_ and he regretted his wish.

A low hoarse chuckle echoed through the room, and all four of them spun towards it, forgetting the druids on every side.

The witch stood under a window, cackling lowly to herself. Shiro shifted his grip on his sword. “You.” He snarled. “You knew we were coming.”

“Of course I did.” She replied hoarsely, hood slipping further over her face as she stepped forward. “None can hide from me.” The druids moved aside to let her through, and she glided smoothly forward until she was just in front of Shiro. She tilted her face backwards, the hood sliding from her white, ragged hair. She stared at him with those yellow, sick eyes. Shiro’s hand went to the knife at his waist.

“You’re going to regret this, _Champion._ You will be the final resistance to Zarkon’s reign.”

“We will not be the last.” Shiro promised, moving even closer. “Make an example of us if you will. We will only be an inspiration.”

Fury flashed across the witch’s face. “You will be nothing but proof that Zarkon is unstoppable.”

Shiro pulled his knife, had it out of his sheath in a single breath and stabbed upwards, but the witch was already gone, like smoke blown away by the wind. She reappeared again, standing outside the circle. The druids drew ever closer. His teammates pulled closer to him, Keith’s armour digging into his arm, Hunk’s breath harsh behind him.

“No one will ever know what became of you.” The witch promised in her hoarse voice as bolts of energy crackled between the druids, linking them all in an electric, sparking circle. “You will be trapped, confined forever, in bodies that are not your own, only your mind still longing for the life it should have, full of regret, wishing that you had just accepted his rule and _bowed_.” She smiled cruelly, a flash of white and red.

“Goodbye, Paladins.”

 

Lance waited.

All was silent in the chamber beyond the huge oak doors, but he couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad sign. The air in the castle was chill, creeping into his bones, and yet he sat silent among the rafters, waiting. No guards crossed the corridor, no druids, no servants.

He waited until his muscles were stiff, until the sky outside began to darken. He waited for half an hour, and then longer.

He waited while his fear built, while it crested. He waited for the certainty that his friends weren’t coming back, and then he waited for the pain to hit. He waited out the urge to scream, and he waited until instead, grief settled in his bones, heavy and solid and becoming a part of him.

Lance waited, and waited, and finally, numb with both cold and grief, he slipped out of the castle and into the night.

 

Lance slipped into Kolivan’s tent without announcing himself. No one else would get away with it, but the guard hidden near the entrance let him pass. Voltron could come and go as they pleased.

Lance shouldered through the entrance. Inside, Kolivan was deep in a strategy meeting with a handful of Galra soliders. He looked up as Lance came in, took in his tense jaw and his bright eyes with a single look. That look could mean either success or failure. Without hesitation, Kolivan turned to the other commanders.

“I will call you back once I am done.” He said firmly. “Leave.”

The Galra commanders nodded, leaving the tent one by one with respectful nods or wary looks at Lance, who didn’t move from his spot, letting them file out around him.

“Lance.” Kolivan said when they were alone. “What news?”

Lance stood ramrod straight, arms clasped behind his back, posture and face firm. “We must assume the mission failed.” He fought down the tremor in his voice, kept it level and harsh.

Kolivan blinked. “The others?”

“Did not return.”

“And you are certain that...”

“Kolivan.” Lance let emotion bleed through, a harsh crack of pain lancing through the word. “They never returned. They’re dead.”

Kolivan took a step back as if to avoid the words. “That is a great loss. They were of a great advantage to us.” He said slowly, and suddenly Lance wanted out, wanted to leave this tent and this camp, far away from the men who spoke of Lance’s friends like pawns, like weapons.

“Will there be a ceremony? A funeral?” Lance asked, hoping against hope. Kolivan looked up sharply. “A funeral? Lance, if we mourned every fallen man...”

“I know.” Lance interrupted, clenching his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to hear the words he knew were coming.

“This is a shame.” Kolivan continued lowly. “We will start planning another attack. You will lead it, of course, you are now familiar with...”

“No.” Lance interrupted. Kolivan looked up in shock and surprise. “What?”

“No.” Lance repeated. “I’m done. I’m leaving.”

“Lance, everyone here has _lost_ someone. We have to keep going, keep fighting.”

“I don’t.” Lance replied, brooking no argument. “I’ve decided. I’ve done my duty.”

“You can’t leave.” A slight tremor of panic threaded its way through Kolivan’s voice, the first sign of emotion Lance had heard so far. “Team Voltron is the best we have.”

“It _was._ And now they’re gone, and I’m going too.” Lance fought to keep his voice steady, to keep his tears from falling.

“Just because the others are dead doesn’t mean you’re finished, Lance.” Kolivan growled. “We still need Voltron.”

“I’m not Voltron.” Lance replied, finally moving further into the tent to glare up at Kolivan. “Voltron is dead. It can’t be rebuilt on me.”

“Lance, your grief is making you irrational.”

“Your lack of grief is what’s irrational.” Lance snapped. He reached up, curled his fingers around the metal insignia pinned to his clothing under his jacket and tore it off with a decisive wrench. He slammed it down on the table, hard and sudden enough to make Kolivan twitch, ears flattening to his skull.

“Goodbye, Kolivan.” Lance said without a hint of grief, nor a hint of anger. He didn’t know what he felt. Perhaps nothing at all. He turned to leave, stalked towards the entrance. At the tent flap he stopped and looked back at Kolivan standing by his table, stunned and silent.

“Good luck.” Lance said before vanishing through the tent flap and into the woods beyond.

 

Lance had decided to go before he knew where he was going. His destination wasn’t at the forefront of his mind, after all, where could he go? Where was a prize assassin raised in a spy camp wanted after retirement? That’s what this was, Lance knew when he lay down to sleep that first night, hidden high among the treetops. Retirement. He had done his piece, he had sacrificed what he could, and now he was done with that life.

After three days of wandering through the woods, Lance started to think that maybe he should have had some sort of goal in mind after all, or at least should have packed some food. He ate what he could find, and he had no problem living off the land, but he would also kill for a slice of bread and cheese instead of roots, berries and meat cooked over a campfire.

Lance hadn’t been trained from the moment he could crawl just to be finished off by food cravings, though, and so he kept wandering resolutely, not even caring about the direction as long as it wasn’t _back._

It took him a few days to clear the forest thanks to his mindless, somewhat circular wandering. It was an abrupt change; one moment he was walking through the forest, listening for sounds beyond birdsong and wildlife, moving with the trained silence of an assassin. From one step to the next he had cleared the trees, as the forest yielded abruptly to a steep cliff face, stretching the valley before him. And there, at the very mouth, all thatched roofs and smoking chimneys, sat a village.

Lance could have cried with relief. Instead he simply began making his precarious way down the cliff, climbing and stumbling and slipping down the steep slope until finally, sweaty and dusty, he made it to the bottom.

The village was quiet. Lance had never been to a place this quiet. The spy camp, though hidden, always bustled with activity just under the surface, behind the scenes, leaving you with an uneasy feeling of something more no matter where you went. But this place was really, truly quiet, smoke curling from the chimneys undisturbed, no hidden eyes, no barely-there footsteps.

Lance approached the houses warily nevertheless, with silent, trained steps and breathing steady, listening for any hint of an attacker.

The village stayed silent on the outskirts, until Lance was able to pick up voices from inside the houses, low grumbles of adults and the high giggling of children, and slowly, life came to the village as he approached the centre, a centre of small shops and children squealing around the well, adults chattering as the drew up pails of water, resting the buckets on the rim to keep talking to their neighbours until finally they said their goodbyes, took their cheerful children by the hand and left.

Lance took in everything as he walked, not even turning his head, completely silent, passing without people acknowledging him. Force of habit made him try to blend in, to become invisible, but it wasn’t as easy here as it was with the Blade- a stranger in a dark cloak, with a sword and a dagger at his hips and a crossbow slung across his shoulders always drew the wrong kind of attention in a village like this.

Lance ignored the whispers, listening past the mere passing wonderment of most of the villagers and sifting out those whispers more harmful, the mutters of farmers fearing for the safety of their family, speaking of _magic_ and things even darker. He didn’t ignore those, followed them back to their source and pinned down those talking, placed them at the forefront of his mind and watched for the telltale bulge of weapons under their coats and layers.

He walked for the bakery without hesitation. There was no need to stay here long, no need to talk and give himself away. He simply needed food, maybe some wine, and directions. He didn’t know what he should ask for, where he wanted to go, but he should stay on the road. He wasn’t being hunted, and staying close to civilization could only be a good thing as winter came closer. He couldn’t stay here, not this close to the Blades and the Empire, where his past threatened to catch up with him every day.

“Good morning!” The baker greeted him cheerfully as he entered the small shop, obviously more used to a ragged traveller than the average villager. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like three loaves, please.” Lance smiled politely, layered on the charm easily. No use being grim and suspicious as well as a heavily-armed stranger. The baker returned his smile and turned to the oven to bring out the bread, wrapping it in brown paper and tying it with string.

“Thank you.” Lance lay down his coins on the counter and took the parcels. “Could you also tell me where I can get a bag for the bread? And perhaps direct me to the road.”

The baker didn’t question him, and after Lance had bought a rough-spun cloth bag, some meat and cheese and a small wine skin, he settled down at a clean table in the small town tavern, resting his legs for just a while before he would be back on the road. Perhaps he should invest in a horse, he thought as he stretched out his aching limbs. Who knew how long he would have to travel?

He was halfway through his beer when one of his targets entered the tavern, one of the men who had been whispering angrily by the well. He sat down with a larger group, and immediately Lance’s hackles rose. Lone man were rarely dangerous, but in a group, with courage in numbers? Only a fool would enrage a suspicious farmer once surrounded by friends.

Lance stayed where he was, sipping his beer calmly, but he loosened the knife in its sheath on his thigh. He couldn’t afford a trail of blood in his wake, but he would resort to violence if there was no alternative.

He was only left alone for a short time while the men at the table whispered among each other urgently, sneaking glances at him every now and again. Lance tried hard to look as non-threatening as possible, but to no avail. Four of the farmers heaved themselves up from their table and loped towards him with set jaws and suspicious eyes.

“You.” The leader was the man Lance had been wary of from the start. As bad as this situation might get, at least Lance knew that his instincts were still right. “Yes?” He asked with mild, polite interest.

“Why are you here?” The man snarled. Lance looked him in the eye but made sure to look convincingly cowed. He could take out every one of them without moving from his chair, but he’d rather this pass peacefully. “I’m simply travelling through.” He promised. The man snorted. “I don’t believe you. You’re just bringing trouble.”

“I’m sorry if I do. But I can promise that once my glass is empty, I will leave this village.” Lance wondered what the farmers saw. A threat to their village? A threat to their children?

“You’re a soldier of the empire, aren’t you?” The man snarled. _Oh._ So that’s what this was about. “We don’t need the empire in our business.”

“I have no loyalty to the empire.” Lance replied calmly, and truthfully. The farmer kept glaring. “Prove it.”

“How?” Lance questioned, and the man’s brows furrowed, mouth opening slightly as he tried to find an answer to his own question. “Just...” He paused, admitting defeat. “Leave before this evening. I’ll be watching.”

“Of course.” Lance inclined his head, relief washing over him. The men turned away with a grumble, heading towards their drinking companions. Lance hesitated, but then he called out. “Pardon! Sir!”

The farmer turned, probably mainly out of surprise at being called “Sir”. “What is your grievance with the empire?”

“So you _are_ a spy.” The man snarled, taking a step towards him. _Oh yes,_ Lance thought, _but not on the side you think._ “Of course not,” he replied instead, calm and soothing. “I am simply from far away. I’m curious to know.”

“What, so you’ll report back to them?”

Lance hesitated. It was a gamble, and a dangerous one at that, but it might just pay off. And if it didn’t, he would just have to run. So he fished around under his tunic, and brought out a simple leather pendant on a cord around his neck, pressing it to the table. The farmer came closer, his companions already back at their table. He took one look at it, the curved emblem of the Blade of Marmora in dark purple on the leather, and stared up at Lance with an open mouth.

“You’re not with the empire.” He whispered. Lance gave a small, twisted grin. “Not exactly.” He said, and really, really hoped this wasn’t about to lead to the man bashing his head in. Instead, the farmer sat down opposite Lance with a heavy thump. “I thought the Blade had vanished.”

“That’s good.” Lance replied. “We try to stay hidden.”

“Of- of course.” The farmer stuttered. Lance leaned back. “Please, indulge me. I’m simply curious. What news from the Empire?”

“They’ve created some new monster. Giant, winged lions that fly over the countryside. It’s scary, it is. We don’t know what they’re planning.”

Lions. Interesting, but rather useless to Lance. He wasn’t about to go cuddle a lion even before there was a chance it was a mutated servant of the Empire. “Have they hurt anyone?”

The farmer shook his head. “Haven’t even taken our livestock. Just deer from the woods, and they scare the spirits out of folk.”

“Huh.” Lance didn’t quite know what to make of it. What was the Empire using them for, then? To spy? But surely there could have been less conspicuous methods. He should tell Kolivan... but no, that was behind him. He didn’t have to figure out what the Empire was planning anymore. He just had to avoid them, until he had reached the border, and with it, freedom.

He finished his beer while listening to the man talk about the Empire, paid and left. The farmer didn’t seem quite as eager to let him go, but Lance didn’t want to stay even a moment longer somewhere so close to the Citadel. He needed to leave the centre of the Empire’s power before he could afford to rest. And so he found himself on the road soon enough, his bags heavy with food, humming to himself and watching the ravens fly by.

 

Lance didn’t know how long he spent walking from village to village, town to town. Sometimes he stayed just long enough to restock on supplies, sometimes he took on odd jobs for a few days in a warm house and some coins to buy supplies at the next village. Autumn was nearing an end, and it was getting cold, too cold to be safe. Lance awoke in the morning with frost lacing his coat and his fingers and toes numb. He wasn’t the only one to notice.

“You shouldn’t leave now.” Alois, one of the farmers he had been helping for a few days while he recovered from a cold, said. “You’ll get sick again, and hungry, and cold, and before you know it you aren’t waking up again.”

“You might be right.” Lance sniffled, muffling a cough in his jacket sleeve. “Stay the winter.” Alois offered. “My children have grown fond of you, and there’ll be enough odd jobs to do.”

“I couldn’t impose.” Lance insisted. Alois snorted. “You wouldn’t. You’d be a help. Make no mistake, I’ll make you earn your keep.”

Lance leaned on his shovel, considering. He’d never had a home before, and ever since Voltron... he didn’t like thinking of it. But he had also never spent a winter outside of the cold, and that alone would be worth it, and especially now, without a tent and an outdoor campfire, he really shouldn’t turn down the offer.

“All right.” He agreed. “But you had better put me through my paces.”

 

Alois did, and Lance spent that winter working for his keep, but also simply enjoying being part of a family again. He flirted with the village girls and helped the families with little children, brewed tea for anyone in the village who fell sick, shovelled snow for the innkeeper and talked and joked with the villagers who had taken up residence in front of the inn’s roaring fire. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he had been this happy. That winter was when he realized what he had quit the Blades for, what he hoped his future might hold.

No good time could last forever, especially not one that had a predetermined end date from day one. And so, once spring came and the snow melted, once the river broke free of its ice covering and bubbled happily over the frozen rocks, once Lance could pick flowers for the boys and girls that caught his fancy, he packed his bags and left the village. It was a heavy goodbye, and Lance couldn’t bring himself to look back, but with every step he walked further from the place that had made him so happy these winter months, the weight lessened, and by sundown, the village was out of sight.

Lance found a cave hollowed out of the side of a cliff, and he was grateful as he slunk under the shelter offered by the rocks. It was still cold, and it looked like rain, a cold spring shower he didn’t feel like facing out in the open.

He slept lightly, as he always did outside, where safety was never a guarantee. And so he awoke in the middle of the night at the slightest unusual sound, a rushing, heaving, thundering, the trees outside his shelter creaking wildly. Lance peeked out of the cave, heart pounding. The trees were swaying as if caught in a hurricane, but only in a tight circle just beyond the cave mouth. Beyond that, they were standing silent watch to the strange proceedings, completely still except for the hushed rustle of leaves. There was no wind, just... shadows, large shadows falling over the clearing beyond. Something was coming into view just above the trees. Lance scrambled back, hiding himself behind a large rock. His heart was pounding, but his breathing was steady, his mind collected. This was what normalcy felt like to him. He let his knife slide into his hand.

This was just another mission.

The rushing stopped with four heavy thumps, shortly after each other, like something large had put down one paw after another. And then the light filtering into the cave blocked out and something large and sinuous entered.

Not something, Lance realized. Four somethings. Four distinct somethings, which accounted for the thumps, and the rushing made sense too, all at once, because these somethings had wings, large and folded  against their sides.

They were lions.

Four large, winged lions.

Lance held his breath. He had almost forgotten the story, had never really believed it in the first place, but here they stood, these mutations the empire had apparently created. Lance shut his eyes and prayed.

When he opened them again, the lions had curled up on the floor, except for one, the largest, who still stood at the cave mouth, looking out at the moon. They looked oddly... peaceful.

The largest looked back suddenly, growling, and Lance hurriedly retreated further into the shadows. The other lions looked up from their places on the floor, got up, stretched lazily, yawning, almost human in the way they rolled their shoulders... and then they became even more human, more and more, like dim outlines becoming visible underneath fur, and their feathers, their furs, were moulting, falling to the floor in silky waterfalls as lean, human forms crystallized like they had been there all along.

Lance stared, so shocked it took him a while to realize how familiar those human forms were. The largest lion, or the man that had been the largest lion, turned, and in the moonlight Lance saw his face clear as day, outlined in silver. He couldn’t contain his gasp.

_“Shiro?”_

 


	2. Chapter 2

_“Lance?”_

They were all staring at him as he edged out from behind the rock. He stared right back.

Shiro.

Hunk.

Pidge.

Keith.

Standing in front of him, healthy and whole, if a little thinner and more ragged, but definitely alive when they definitely should have been dead. Lance didn’t know what to do, so he just stared some more. He was positive his brain must be fried, or that he had eaten bad mushrooms. He couldn’t be dreaming, mainly because he wouldn’t be able to think up something like this.

“You’re... alive?” His voice came out faint and croaking.

It was Shiro who stepped forward, the first to move, the first to break out of the trance they all suddenly found themselves in. “Lance...” His voice was impossibly soft. “You found us?”

“I...” Lance felt tears coming to his eyes. “I didn’t know... I’m so glad, I’m so... I thought you were dead!” The tears spilled over, and in no time at all he was bawling, sobbing in great, heaving breaths, barely bringing out words in between. “I thought you were dead! I... I left the... the blade, because...”

Suddenly he was surrounded by warmth, by strong arms pulling him in, and he was cradled against Shiro’s chest, inhaling his scent. He had missed him so much, his warmth, his strength, his smell. Lance clung to him, still crying, tugging at Shiro’s shirt to pull him closer. He both sensed and heard the others move closer, and then Hunk’s hand was smoothing up and down his back, Pidge’s on his shoulder, Keith’s hesitantly laid on his arm.

“We thought we’d never see you again.” Shiro murmured into Lance’s hair. “I... I...” Lance was still crying, his words muffled in Shiro’s chest. _“How?”_

“The witch cursed us instead of killing us.” It was Hunk who answered, and at the sound of his voice, Lance blindly reached out grabbing for his shirt and pulling him in until he was being held by both of them. Pidge and Keith hesitantly joined the hug.

They stayed like that for a while. Lance didn’t want to release the embrace, tears of relief trickling down his cheeks. “I’m so glad.”

“So are we.” Shiro murmured. “Lance, I was... we were so scared we’d never see you again.” A warm shiver raced down Lance’s back.

“We didn’t know what you would do if we didn’t come back.” Pidge added. “We were worried you’d try something stupid.”

“I never do anything stupid.” Lance muttered defiantly, ignoring Keith’s snort. “I thought you were dead.”

“We know.”

“I didn’t know what to do.” Lance clung tighter.

“But you found us in the end. I didn’t think you would.” Keith replied with a small smile. Lance returned it, watery and weak. “I’m insulted you doubted me, mullet.”

Finally they broke apart, and Shiro dragged out blankets from a dark corner of the cave while Hunk made a fire. Lance moved closer to it gratefully, and the others clustered around too.

Lance looked around and realized expectations were in order. “What happened? I want to know every detail.”

Next to him, Shiro sat down cross-legged and sighed. “The witch knew we were coming.” He twisted his hands together. “It was my fault.”

“It was _not!”_ Keith and Hunk shouted immediately, in the tone of someone who has had this exact fight a hundred times or more. Shiro looked up quickly before looking back down to his fingers knotting into each other. “We didn’t want to leave until we knew you were alive. So we stayed in the area. We stalked the Blade campsite every day, just trying to see you.” He laughed hollowly. “We were almost killed by our own friends several times.”

“At least we know that the Blades guard their perimeter well.” Keith muttered.

“So... what?” Lance frowned. “You’re lions? With wings? Except at night?”

“We only get two hours every night.” Hunk’s voice was small. “Two hours in our own bodies before we turn back.”

Lance couldn’t help but blanch. That was far worse than he had assumed. He had thought they would at least get a full night. Next to him, Shiro reached out hesitantly, but pulled his hand back just a few inches from Lance’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Lance tried to keep his voice from breaking. “You can’t change anything about this.”

“There must be a way.” Keith mused darkly. “If only we could find it. But it’s understandably hard when you spend most of your time a huge lion.”

A dark thought suddenly shot through Lance, panic rising. “Do you know who you are when you transform? Or will I suddenly be on my own in the middle of a hungry lion pack?”

“We’re fully conscious of our actions and in control of them.” Shiro replied calmly. “Our minds are still those of humans.”

Lance breathed out a sigh. “Thank god.”

“Speaking of...” Shiro leaned over Lance, close enough for Lance to smell him, and looked up at the moon. “We have about half an hour. Lance, would you be fine with continuing the serious talk later?”

Lance nodded mutely, still reeling. With grunts and groans, the others stood up from their places around the fire. Hunk and Pidge set out into the dark forest for something, and Keith set to darning one of the cloaks.

Lance sat silently, still processing. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Just a bit more than an hour ago he had known where he was going, where his future lay. He felt lost all over again.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked from beside him. His voice was low, deep and comforting. It had always sent a thrill through Lance, as intoxicating as the rest of him was, but now it felt better than ever, a warm, familiar comfort in a world of impossible unknowns.

“I... yeah, I suppose.” Lance muttered. Shiro shifted closer, and Lance tensed.

He had always harboured feelings for his teammate that were more tender than they should be. He would stare and admire and act on none of it, just glad that he and Shiro were friends, that they had that deep, loving bond all of Voltron had. It was obvious, he concluded, logical. Anyone would stare at Shiro, anyone would admire him. He was simply perfect.

Lance had just forgotten how perfect over the months of separation, and now he was hit full force by everything he admired in him, experiencing it again, experiencing it anew.

“It’s a lot to think about, isn’t it.” Shiro prodded gently, voice low and comforting.

Lance had had a long day. He had been surprised by a bunch of huge magical beasts that could tear him limb from limb, seen them turn into his friends that had all died months ago, or so he thought, had listened to the explanation of these events and was trying to come up with a plan on how to keep them human for good. And that was just the evening.

“It’s... challenging.” Lance murmured back, and he looked up at Shiro’s small smile. “But it’s just good to have you all back. Not dead and all that.”

“It’s good to have you back too.” Shiro said softly. “We missed you.”

“Did you really not want to leave without me?” Lance asked softly. “Did you stay here all this time just looking for me?”

“We at least had to let you know that we’re alive. That you shouldn’t feel guilty. Now that you know, you’re free to do as you want.”

“I want to stay. I want to fix this.” Lance said firmly. Shiro’s smile widened, and that look on his face, that look as if Lance had just shown Shiro the stars, as if he had laid out the constellations in the sky, Lance could have stared at it forever.

“We’re all so glad you’re alive.” Shiro finally whispered, impossibly tender. “I was scared you’d run out and try to defeat the witch single-handedly if we never reappeared.”

“Hmmm, tempting but no.” Lance leaned back with a smile. “If I had done that, she wouldn’t be alive today. Me against her? What an unfair duel, I should at least give her a fighting chance.”

Shiro laughed lowly and drew closer, so close that Lance could sense his body, feel the space between them. Lance looked up and wondered if Shiro was aware how close they were, that their hands were almost brushing. The absurd thought popped into his mind that maybe this was the type of curse to be broken by true love’s kiss.

“I...” Shiro started, but just at that moment he suddenly fell silent, jerked, eyes wide with pain. On the other side, Keith dropped his darning with a grunt, and Lance knew time was up.

Shiro looked up at him, eyes wide, sweat running down his temples. “You might want to look away.” He pushed out, and Lance turned to face the cave wall hurriedly, trying to shut down, shut out the small pained sounds, the increasingly animalistic whimpers.

He hadn’t even considered if the transformation would pain them, but of course this was Haggar’s magic, and of course she wouldn’t see to it that the ordeal was painless. Lance curled in on himself. He had always been good with pain, even before it was trained into him by the Blades. They had all been trained to bear pain until they could still fight at stages other people were barely conscious, but nobody had ever taught Lance how to handle other’s pain. He hated all of it.

The whimpers had barely trailed off before something large and heavy padded up behind him, a warm nose pressed into his shoulder and a rough tongue licked apologetically at his hand. Lance’s first instinct, despite everything, was to run, but instead he turned around slowly and came face to face with the largest lion he had ever seen.

Lance’s heart was almost beating out of his chest. They had said before that they would remain in control, in their own mind. But how could they know? What if they slipped, now or later, maybe when they were hungry enough? Everything he knew, everything they had said counted for nothing now that he stood face to face with a predator of this size. His fear came from a place deeper than logic, somewhere in him that was still simply an animal realizing it is prey.

But then, slowly, the lion knelt down and butted his head gently against Lance’s, and just like that, all the fear dissipated. This was Shiro, through and through. Lance reached up gently to lay a hand on the lion’s forehead, and the lion pushed against it, almost like a cat begging for attention. “Hey there.” Lance whispered, and he buried his hands in the soft mane as the last of his fear dissipated. “Wow.” He said softly. “This is...”

 _Weird._ There was no other way to describe it. His friends were lions, or at least looked for all the world like them, if regular lions had wings. Lance couldn’t say if they were larger than ordinary lions, or if they simply seemed larger this close up. Lance really hoped it was the former, because Shiro was enormous and he didn’t want to imagine himself facing down an actual wild beast of this size.

“Can you still hear me?” He asked softly, and the lion that was Shiro growled softly in answer, nudging against him to encourage Lance’s hands combing gently through his mane. His mane was pitch black and silkier than Lance had thought it would be, and he was content to brush his hands through it for a while, staring at the huge, winged lion, and trying to reconcile it with _Shiro,_ his friend.

He was interrupted in his musings by the thump of another set of heavy paws, and then Keith flopped down next to them, landing heavily on Lance’s thigh and side and knocking the breath out of him. “Keith!” Lance admonished loudly, and the lion gave a low growl in response, shifting closer.

Lance hesitated. “Are you... jealous?”

The lion growled again. Lance laughed. “Awww, is kitty cat Keith jealous that Shiro is getting all the cuddles?” He cooed, internally still trying to comprehend the fact that here he was, baby-talking a massive _lion_. “Oh noooo, poor little kitty.”

Shiro let out a low rumble that might have passed for a laugh, and Keith rose back to his feet with a huff, impossibly managing to show _insult_ on a lion’s features as he turned his back to the two.

“Awww, no, Keith!” Lance reached out for him. “Come on, stop pouting. I can cuddle you too if you want.”

Slowly and with all the dignity it could muster, the lion turned and settled down again with another huff, letting Lance reach out to scratch at the base of his ears. Keith was slightly smaller than Shiro even in this shape, but still huge, with a reddish tinge to his golden fur where Shiro’s was dark. It was fascinating, the way the lions emulated the human form, showed the same blemishes, small dark patches where their human forms had birthmarks, dark scars that matched those the human had.

Lance was becoming sleepy, nestled like this between two warm, large and soft forms. His eyes were dropping shut, his petting and scratching slowing lazily. Firmly, Shiro nudged him back until he was lying down, Keith letting Lance rest his head on his flank with an indulgent growl as Shiro flopped down to press against him, raising a large black wing to rest it over him so Lance was nestled securely between the two lions, warm in the shelter of Shiro’s wing. He barely even noticed Pidge and Hunk coming back to join the large, warm pile, and before he knew it he was falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of the lion’s flank underneath his head.

 

He awoke to the sun filtering in through the open cave mouth, and the almost immediate realization that now that he wasn’t travelling and didn’t have anyone to talk to until midnight, it would be a very long and boring day. All the lions were gone, except for Keith still lying underneath him.

“Morning, Keith.” He muttered into the lions fur, accepting the returning twitch of Keith’s tail against his side as an answer. “Where are the others?”

Of course he didn’t expect Keith to be able to answer a question like that, but at least he could talk _at_ someone if not with someone. When Keith remained as silent as expected, Lance sighed and got up, followed by the large reddish lion as he headed into the forest.

Lance ended up spending most of his day gathering food, laying traps, finding water and patches of berries, followed half the day by a curious yet sullen winged lion that was Keith, and the second half of the day by an enormous, affable lion with pale yellow fur that he could only assume was Hunk.

He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that they were evidently putting him under guard, but he chose to be grateful in the end. Who knew what dangers might crop up, and besides, maybe it was better to think of them as putting him up with permanent company rather than permanent guard.

He returned to the cave when it got dark, surprisingly worn out and with a plan firmly in place. The other lions were already back, and Lance was practically jumped the moment he came in, surrounded suddenly by enthusiastic and overly large lions butting at his hands in greeting.

“Hey!” He laughed. “Hey, calm down! I’ve got enough time for all of you.”

The lions didn’t eat when Lance did, something he was grateful for even if he didn’t know if it was for practical reasons or to spare him of the sight of all the blood and raw meat. All questions to ask in a few hours. Lance couldn’t wait. He wasn’t good with solitude, and although having his friends around as animals was better than nothing, he preferred his conversations less one-sided.

He couldn’t sleep, not until the transformation, and so he ended up sitting at the cave mouth, staring out at the darkening forest outside with Shiro a steady, calm presence at his side, wing resting over him like a large, feathery blanket as the others went out to hunt.

They sat in silence, Lance with a heavy heart and Shiro with inscrutable calm. Every moment Lance grew more restless. He wanted to _talk_ to Shiro, wanted to be held, wanted to see his beautiful face and hear his voice. Just yesterday he had thought everyone on Team Voltron was dead, and just to know them alive would have been enough, but already he wasn’t happy with that.

Lance fists clenched at his sides until his knuckles were white around the knife he was sharpening. “I’m going to find a way to lift this curse, Shiro.” He said lowly. “I swear it.”

“I know.”

Lance hadn’t even noticed the transformation, but that was Shiro’s voice, and Shiro was sitting beside him now, fully human, feathers still settling in a dark cloud around him. He smiled softly from amidst the falling feathers, and Lance wanted to hold onto the moment forever.

“Hey there.” He whispered. Shiro hummed. “Hey yourself. How was your day?”

Lance sighed, and, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned into Shiro. They had all been close during their time with the Blades, unafraid to show physical affection after so long fighting together. Shiro accepted Lance leaning into him easily, raised his arm to rest it around his shoulders and draw him closer.

“Long.” Lance sighed. “It’s awful not having you guys around.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It must be so much harder on you.” Lance looked up at Shiro, wordlessly asking. What was it like, being in such a different body? Did it hurt?

“It’s alright, actually.” Shiro shrugged. “We can communicate among each other for some reason, a lot of the body language is instinctive. And when you’re in your lion form... you remember who you are, but it takes the back stage. It isn’t as important anymore. You shed a lot of the inhibitions you have as a human, and a lot of the priorities.”

“Keith cuddling?” Lance asked with a smile.

“A wonderful example of both human inhibition shed and priorities changing to getting your ears scratched.” Shiro replied with a chuckle. “The transformation is painful. Everything else isn’t. Don’t worry, Lance. You’ve got enough to worry about as is.”

 

The fire crackled in the cave, throwing up sparks and smoke until the roof blackened. Five dangerous assassins sat huddled close to it, trying to figure out a plan.

“Where do you even start to break a magical curse?” Hunk asked. “They didn’t exactly teach this with the Blades.”

“If they had known we’d find ourselves in this situation, they probably would have.” Keith mused, sharpening one of his knives.

“Well, seeing as we were fighting an empire that relied mainly on evil witchcraft for power, they should have seen this coming.” Hunk sniffed, and within seconds they were engaged in a debate about the necessity of basic curse breaking in the Blade teachings.

“I have an idea.” Lance broke in. Silence fell, broken only by the pop of the branches in the fire. “I mean, it’s the start of an idea.”

“Better than anything we’ve got.” Keith encouraged.

“I’m heading to the nearest town tomorrow. I’ll find work, because although I could, I’d prefer not to live off the meat you bring and some berries and roots I find. And after months of living off the forest, I’m sure you would all like some bread and wine too.”

“Ugggh.” Hunk moaned. “This is already the best plan I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m not just going to go so I can feed your hungry mouths.” Lance continued, laughing. “I’m going to listen around what townsfolk are saying about you. People love fantastical stories, and chances are, at least one person telling the story will give me a clue where to start breaking this curse. They may just be stories, but most of them hold some kernel of truth.”

Silence fell again, this time contemplative. Shiro frowned. “I don’t like sending you into danger.” He started, brow furrowed. Lance snorted. “Shiro, please. This won’t be dangerous.”

“You think?” Shiro fixated him with a piercing glare. “A stranger coming into the village and disappearing back into the forest every night? An _armed_ stranger too interested in fairytales?”

“I can handle it.” Lance promised. Shiro opened his mouth to argue, but Lance cut him off. “What about you?” He challenged the others. Pidge frowned. “I don’t know. It’s not much of a plan.”

“They’re just stories. We couldn’t trust stories even if they knew what they were telling stories about.” Keith argued. “They’re gossiping about something they don’t even understand. How should that help us?”

“Do you have a better idea?” Lance felt his temper flare. “Anything at all? I know it’s not much, but it’s better than sitting here doing nothing, and I might as well try _something_ until any of you comes up with something better.”

“I agree with Lance.” Hunk said lowly. “It may be asking too much to demand a definitive answer from village tales, but it’s the best we’ve got.”

“Thank you.” Lance cried out. The other three were still frowning. “It’ll blow our cover.” Shiro argued. “If just one person becomes suspicious, it’ll all be over.”

“You’re flying lions!” Lance yelled, throwing out his arms. “You think you can’t scare away one little villager and then flee before the rest arrive?”

“It’s too risky!” Shiro almost never raised his voice, always maintaining perfect calm, but Lance heard the telltale crack of his temper rising with his voice. He crossed his arms. “I’m going.” Lance’s tone was steely. “I need food, I need _company,”_ he ignored the way those words caused a flash of guilt across Shiro’s features, “and I need to do _something.”_ He finished. “I’m going tomorrow. I’ll be back in the evening.”

And with that, he turned from the fire and headed towards the cave mouth.

 

“Lance?”

That was Shiro’s voice, soft and cautious, as if scared he would spook Lance. Lance just made a noncommittal sound, trying to both convey how angry he still was and how willing to have Shiro crawl back and apologize.

“I’m sorry.” Shiro said softly, and satisfaction lit a small, warm fire in Lance’s chest. “For yelling.”

“Do you admit that I had a good idea?” Lance asked, crossing his arms. He heard and felt Shiro settle down beside him, cross-legged. “No.” Shiro said evenly. “I think your plan is pretty bad. But you’re right in that it’s better than nothing, even if it’s not a whole _lot_ better.”

“Huh.” Lance wasn’t convinced. Shiro laughed and poked him in the side. “Stop pouting.”

“’M not pouting.” Lance grumbled. Shiro smiled. “You are. It’s cute.”

Lance flushed to his ears.

“You can go to the town tomorrow, if you want.” Shiro continued. “I’m just... worried. Please understand that.”

“Shiro.” Lance looked over at him, laying a hand on his broad arm. “Trust me. We can handle any danger that might come our way. _I_ can handle any danger that comes my way. It’ll be fine.”

“Do you really think you’ll find the answer in village tales?” Shiro asked. He sounded... hopeful.

“No.” Lance felt guilty for shattering that hope, but he couldn’t lie to Shiro. “But I might find out where to start.” He looked up at Shiro. “I just want to help.”

“We’re asking too much of you.” Shiro said, avoiding Lance’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Shiro.” Lance put his hand under Shiro’s chin, forced his friend to look at him. “Have I ever failed?”

Shiro hesitated. “I mean, yes. Sometimes.”

“Rude.” Lance snorted, letting go of Shiro’s chin to cross his arms with a snort. Shiro giggled. “I won’t fail.” Lance said seriously, breaking the lightness of the moment, dragging it back. “I’d sacrifice anything.”

Shiro looked up at him, with something far too complex to understand shining in his eyes, admiration and trepidation in equal amounts. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Lance.” He said, so softly Lance could drown in it.

“Shiro,” Lance laughed. “We’re a group of spies and assassins trying to break a Galra curse. If there’s anything I can guarantee, it’s that something bad will happen to me.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN SO LONG BUT I DIDN'T GIVE UP

Four large heads shot up as Lance entered the log cabin they had taken over a while back. It had taken only two weeks for Lance to start complaining about the cave, the cold, the damp and the hard rock floor. The others had found the abandoned log cabin just a few days later, and in no time at all it was repaired and once again inhabited, this time by a group considerably less human than the last that had been there.

“Nothing again,” Lance greeted the lions tiredly, and Keith huffed and lay his head back on his paws. Shiro stood, stretching gracefully, and walked up to rub against Lance comfortingly as he settled down by the fire, feeling exhausted after a long day. “Old Mel insists that the only way to fix any curse is true love’s kiss, but I think that’s more for a case in which there is only one cursed being.” Lance huffed out a laugh. “I love you all, and I’m all for polyamory, but all four of you being my true love? Seems unlikely.”

Behind him, Keith made the most disgusted sound a lion could manage. “Especially you, Keith.” Lance sighed, leaning into Shiro’s warm body and curling around him. “I’m exhausted. Wake me up when you transform?”

Shiro nuzzled the top of his head and spread one enormous wing over him, and Lance fell asleep almost instantly.

He came to with a hand carding through his hair and a low voice whispering his name. Shiro. It was warm, and there was a fire crackling in the fireplace and Lance did not want to get up at all. He was comfortable, cuddled up against someone soft and firm and warm, with Shiro’s smell all around him.

Realization flooded him as warmth rose to his cheeks, and, suddenly fully awake, he sat up to push himself off of the warm chest he’d been cuddled up against. Shiro jolted in shock at the sudden movement, his hand in Lance’s hair stilling as he met his eyes with a blush. They stared at each other, faces red, until Keith cleared his throat just behind them. Lance and Shiro jumped even further apart.

“Are you done?” Keith asked, smiling a little even through the annoyance clear on his face. Shiro nodded dumbly, face practically flaming, while Lance moved closer to the fire, next to Hunk who was busy preparing dinner and laughing at him.

“Shut up.” Lance grumbled. Hunk just laughed again, quieter. “It’s cute.”

“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on him, and it’s embarrassing.”

“Shiro seemed glad to let it happen.” Hunk pointed out, and Lance ignored him. “How about instead of focusing on how glad someone is to let someone else accidentally fall asleep on them, we focus on the curse I’m trying to break? I hate to point this out, but your time in human form is rather limited.”

“So what did you find out then?” Keith asked, settling down with feline grace and a dark smirk on his face. Lance glared into the fire with a pout. “Nothing.”

“Well, if there’s nothing new to talk about,” Keith grinned, leaning in closer, “then you shouldn’t be bothered by us passing our time discussing more trivial matters.”

Lance redirected his murderous glare at his teammate. Behind them, the door to the cabin slammed shut behind Shiro’s retreating back, and instantly, Hunk pounced. “So, what’s going on between you and Shiro?”

“Nothing!” Lance protested, about to turn to Keith for help before he saw the evil glint in his eye and knew he wouldn’t stop Hunk from prying. It was less that Keith cared about his personal life or what went on between teammates and more that Keith liked seeing him out of his depth or uncomfortable in any way, but either way, Keith was more likely to help Hunk in his line of questioning than stop him.

“You are awfully cuddly.” Keith pointed out with a smile like a knife. Lance blushed. “All of us are close! I hug Hunk all the time, and I would hug you too if you didn’t have knives everywhere.”

“You don’t blush when you hug me.” Hunk pointed out. Keith leaned in closer. “Are you two sleeping together?”

“We are most definitely _not._ ” Lance replied haughtily, pushing Keith away from him. “I’m tired of talking about this.”

“I’ll get an answer out of you one day.” Hunk warned, pulling the pot off the fire with a flourish.

“Oh, please, I have several years of training, there’s nothing you can do to make me crack.” Lance sniffed. Hunk was obviously about to reply just as Shiro burst back into the log cabin with Pidge in tow. “Oh, that smells delicious, Hunk.” He greeted the room, dropping down right next to Lance to get a good look at the pot Hunk was stirring. Usually that wouldn’t get Lance to blush, but he could practically still hear Hunk and Keith’s voices in his mind. _Are you sleeping together?_

Lance flushed, and Keith watched him with a self-satisfied smirk.

 

“We need a new plan.” Shiro announced as soon as they had started eating. “We can’t just wait on fate to drop the answer right in our laps.”

“So you didn’t find _anything_ useful?” Pidge turned to Lance. “Nothing?”

Lance shrugged. “Nothing that seems like it’ll actually break the witch’s curse. Just fairytales.”

“As if this isn’t straight out of a fairytale.” Keith grumbled. “I told you from the beginning this was a useless idea! We need to get the answer straight from Haggar.”

“You think she’ll just give it to us?” Lance replied, voice sharp as ice. “You four trot up to her and nuzzle her like you’re _really_ sorry and then she’ll tell you how to lift the curse? We have a better chance if I just try to kiss it all better.”

Keith just snarled.

“I know at least one of us who would be fine with the kissing option.” Pidge muttered, only to be shot down immediately by Shiro and Lance’s twin glares.

“We need to find a better way.” Shiro continued, distracting from Pidge. “Keith might be right, in a way. The best way to find a solution might be in Galra lands, as close to the Empire as possible.”

“That’s the last place you want to be right now.” Lance crossed his arms, frowning. “It’s safer for you where no one knows what you are, where people are scared of you. Imagine if reports of sightings reached Zarkon and Haggar! They know what you are, and they won’t be afraid to harm you if they should want to.”

“What else can she do to us?” Keith growled, louder now, eyes flashing with anger. “We’re already cursed with now way out!”

“There is a way out, we just need to _find_ it.” Lance insisted, glaring Keith down. “And we can’t do that if every day we’re worried about our safety, about the witch deciding the curse wasn’t enough and deciding to kill us instead, about someone in the empire hearing about me! You think if the witch realizes there’s one member of Voltron still out there she’ll just shrug and go on with her day?”

Keith’s eyes flashed yellow with rage, but Lance refused to back down. They glared at each other wordlessly until Shiro pulled them apart.

“Look, let’s all think about it, sleep on it and discuss it more tomorrow.” Shiro placated. “You both make good points, but we can’t just keep going like this. Everybody calm down and take a while to just _think._ For now, just enjoy the time we have left.”

 

For Shiro, that appeared to mean going for a walk, and Lance was only too glad to join him. He craved spending time with human Shiro, the Shiro who could talk and touch and laugh as he pleased. As much as the lions had their distinct personality, as much as they still were the people Lance loved, the ways they could interact were limited, and Lance wanted to spend as much time with them in their human form as possible.

‘Them’ meaning especially Shiro.

They made their way between bracken and ferns, climbing over fallen trees and randomly moving between the shadows, ignoring the path entirely. It felt good, to just walk how they pleased, easily able to keep up with the other, never worrying about where to turn next. They melted in and out of the shadows without talking, habitual, familiar and comforting, until they reached an enormous ledge rising up over the forest and the village beyond, an slim ridge of rock jutting just over the highest tree tops so everything beneath was an endless, rustling ocean of leafy shadow, the lights of the village beyond gleaming golden and welcoming.

They stood silently, acutely aware of each other’s company. Lance listened to Shiro’s breaths, slow and steady, deliberately calm. Below them, the rush of leaves grew and grew, swelling with the wind. Lance shivered and moved closer, trying to nudge his way under Shiro’s arm as he had grown so accustomed to doing lately.

But Shiro stood still as a statue, simply breathing but otherwise unmoving. “Shiro?” Lance tried gently, reaching out to touch his elbow. Shiro didn’t move, didn’t startle or even react. Lance waited on him to find words.

“I won’t ever be able to go back to a village like that, will I?” Shiro finally asked hoarsely, his words almost being swept along by the wind as they dropped from his mouth one by one, coated in reluctance.

Lance leaned in closer. He wanted to comfort, to make a million promises, but how could he when he didn’t know if he could hold even one?

“I don’t know.” He finally answered, the closest thing to honesty he could find in himself. “All we can do is try.”

“I always knew... as a Blade, we might not get out alive. But I never thought something like this would happen. I always thought one day, if I could just survive... one day the fight would be fought. I could have a home. A family. Now they’re still fighting and I’m here, I’m done, and I will never have a chance at that future. I’m as good as dead.”

“That’s a lie.” Lance said steadily, looking up at Shiro with eyes like shards of ice, cold and sharp. “And telling yourself that helps no-one. I miss it too, everything we had before, I miss it so much it hurts, but you can’t just give up on that, you always say so yourself. You want a family? You have a family. Us.”

Shiro looked at him hesitantly. Lance stared back, refusing to back down. “I don’t know what will happen, and if we can find a way to break this curse. But I do know that none of us will abandon the others until we do. And if that’s not the family you say you always wanted, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Shiro was silent, considering, eyes gleaming silver in the moonlight, until finally he smiled and lifted his arm to draw Lance close in a familiar gesture. “Thank you.” He whispered, pulling Lance close and turning back to the sea of treetops in front of them, rustling with the kind of steady calm that makes a moment feel endless. “For not giving up.”

“You never gave up on me.” Lance’s voice was low and steady as he tried to hold back everything he didn’t want Shiro to know; how much he adored him, admired him, maybe even loved him. “I can’t give up on you.”

 

The day was even more exhausting than usual. Lance worked on the fields with most of the other people from the village, and it was finally getting warm, warm enough to be uncomfortable. The work was always back-breaking, but the heat made it almost unbearable, and Lance was glad by the time the day came to an end. He collected his usual earnings and was just about to head out into the forest when he was called back. “Lance!” The speaker was a tall and lanky farmer, a young man, practically a boy. Lance had been working alongside him for a while now. He was fond of stories and fond of drink, and both tied well into Lance’s plans. “Hey, Darius.” He stopped halfway down the road to let Darius catch up with him.

“D’you want to come to the tavern? I heard Isabella saying she saw one of those lions today, and I want to hear it.”

“I’ll come. Which one was it, did you hear?” Lance followed Darius down the street to the tavern. “You can ask her now.” Darius replied as he opened the tavern door. They were met by a sudden wave of smoke, warmth and chatter. The tavern was large and dimly lit, a fire in the grate despite the warming weather. Most people were gathered around the large table closest to the fire, and Darius pushed Lance in that direction before getting drinks for them both.

“It was the red one,” Isabella was saying as Lance approached, surrounded by curious faces and open mouths. “He was huge, larger than any lion should be, and wings... you can’t imagine the size.”

Lance made a note to talk to Keith about being more careful about being spotted, but in a way he was also glad. It was around sightings that people talked the most about the lions, and Lance could always use that to start talking about magic without people looking at him strangely.

“What are they doing here?” A large man grunted from the head of the table. “They’ve been roaming the forest for months.”

“But they’ve never hurt anyone.” Lance pointed out thoughtfully, pretending to be as mystified by their presence as everyone else. “Didn’t even hurt the flocks.”

There was the constant danger of the villagers choosing to hunt the lions down, and Lance was constantly trying to subtly bring up that they seemed to pose no danger at all.

“It’s a curse.” Isabella muttered. Lance perked up instantly. “A curse on all of us.”

“Is it really a curse if nothing bad has happened yet?” Darius pointed out, coming back to the table. “Isn’t the constant danger bad enough?” Someone else pointed out darkly.

“We need to pray to the gods!”

“We need to defeat them with fire!”

“They’re restless spirits, we have to bless all the graves!”

Lance tuned out the chatter, idly listening for anything that might be useful as he sipped his drink. The conversation went on for hours, but nothing came up. The entire conversation failed at one of the first stages: Not a single person in the village seemed to consider that the lions themselves were cursed and not that they were the curse. Lance tried to steer the conversation in that direction several times, but nothing could convince the people around the table that it wasn’t them in danger. Finally Lance resettled at the bar, too exhausted to keep listening.

It was when he was about to leave that Darius called him back.

“Lance! Don’t leave yet!”

“Darius, I’m really tired from work, I...” Lance tried to make his excuses.

“No, you live in the forest, don’t you?” Darius grabbed his wrist, keeping him from leaving. Lance frowned. “Yes, but there’s never been any danger and...”

“Don’t head home yet. We’re going to finally go hunt those lions, we need you with us.” Darius urged, supported by loud growls of approval from the table behind.

“I’m sorry,” Lance paled. “You’re going to what?”

“We’re going to hunt them!” Someone yelled.

“Smoke them out!”

“Burn them with fire until not even their unholy spirits can return!”

“Finally take back what is ours!”

“We’ll send them back to the Empire, or Altea, wherever they belong!”

That gave Lance a start, even through the fear coursing through him. “Altea?”

He had never heard the word, and hearing it in connection to the Empire...

“The witch’s haven.” Someone clarified. “The only place to rival the Galra in magic.” The speaker spat. “A coven of the unnatural and horrible.” There were muted grunts of approval. Next to Lance, Darius shuddered. “They have magic so old, so powerful, so terrible, not even the Galra could defeat them.”

Lance knew it in a heartbeat, knew it with a thrill that went through his body, knew it like a forgotten name from his childhood. This was what he had been looking for. _Altea._ This was it.

“And now they’ve sent these _creatures,_ these lions!” Someone shouted, dragging him back to the present.

“We won’t take it!”

“We’re tired of living in fear!”

“Come on, let’s bring back their heads!”

Shouts of approval met this statement, steel glinted in the light of the flames. Lance could hardly breathe. “I... I’m no hunter, I really should go.”

“It might be dangerous!” Darius urged him. “We’re leaving in an hour, just wait that long and...”

“No!” Lance pulled himself free. “I have to go!” He rushed towards the door, no longer paying attention to the people calling after him. The cold wind greeted him, the stars shining white and cold down on him, winking lazily, dispassionate observers to the world below.

Lance ran.

He ran until his lungs hurt, ran between the trees, jumping over roots and bushes and patches of bramble, tore his cloak free from branches and thorns to keep on running, his breathing painful in his chest, every sobbing exhalation like a knife in his chest.

Lance ran and ran, refusing to slow, racing through the dark and shouting whenever he could catch breath. “Shiro!” He shouted, panted, sobbed. “Keith!”

He had been on more Blade missions than he could count and never had he been this scared, never had he felt this close to danger, never had he felt this close to not getting out alive.

Finally the hut came into view just ahead, and Lance slammed bodily into the door, falling through into the room beyond. As he fell through the door, the lions leapt up. Lance lay there, panting, unable to form words.

“I...” He coughed, getting to hands and knees. “They’re... They’re coming. We need to go.”

He looked up. The lions looked back at him, ears flattened to their skulls. Lance took a moment to compose himself. “We have an hour until they’re here. Let’s go!” He shouted. The lions sprang into action suddenly, leaving him by himself in the cabin to quickly throw everything he could need and everything he could get his hands on in a sack. Panic thrummed through him, a steady beat symphonizing with the pounding of his heart.

He took too long, far too long, but finally he burst out of the hut where the lions paced impatiently, ready to fly.

Lance stopped in his tracks. “Wait.” He said, cold horror creeping up on him with numbing intensity. “Where’s Keith?”

There were only three lions. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed before, perhaps it had been the panic clouding his mind, perhaps the frantic hurry, but he hadn’t noticed and now Keith simply wasn’t there. “Shiro.” Lance bent down. “Where is Keith?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to end this on a cliffhanger but the resulting scene where they try to save Keith got too long so you get this :))))  
> At least the next chapter is almost halfway written already!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no way of keeping his friends safe without making some terrible sacrifices.
> 
> But at least once you come out of the other side of horror, you're more grateful than ever for the people who stood with you through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for violence and gore!

“Shiro.” Lance bent down. “Where is Keith?”

The lion looked up at him helplessly.

“Is he in danger?” Lance asked, and immediately the lion reacted, butting his head forward in agreement, scratching at the ground frantically, whining and growling. Lance’s heart dropped into his stomach. He threw the sack in his hand towards Hunk, watched the lion scoop it up in his teeth. “Pidge, Hunk,” he ordered, “hide in the cave we first met at. It’s too far, the humans won’t make it there. Me and Shiro are going to find Keith.”

The lions hesitated, but he shooed them until finally they both turned away, beating their massive wings steadily to get off the ground. He turned back to Shiro, pulling his crossbow from over his shoulder and notching a bolt. “Let’s go get Keith.” He said grimly, turning back towards the forest, towards the village, towards danger. Something snagged his coat. He turned around.

Shiro had his coat in his mouth, tugging him back. “Shiro, we need to go, we need to find Keith...” Lance started, but Shiro padded forward, deliberately rubbing along Lance’s legs, kneeling slightly. Lance hesitated. “Do you want me to... get on your back?”

The lion butted his head against Lance in a clear motion of assent. “Are you sure?” Lance asked, and was promptly almost bowled over by Shiro in an attempt to get him on his back. “Fine!” Lance hesitantly grabbed onto his mane and guided Shiro further down so he could swing a leg over his broad back. “As long as we find Keith.”

The lion growled, his wings beat, the trees creaked in the wind, and slowly, with deliberate grace, they rose into the air. Lance couldn’t breathe. He tangled his fingers in the lion’s mane, screwing his eyes shut against the biting wind. He held on as tight as he possibly could, thighs tense against the lion’s flanks, squeezing with all his strength.

Under him, Shiro trembled briefly, and then it all settled. He was high in the air, floating just above the tree tops, and he was gliding. Lance dared to open his eyes, dared to breathe out.

It was beautiful, and it was terrifying. They were gliding above the treetops smoothly, the highest branches just brushing Shiro’s paws. He was warm and steady beneath Lance, and for a moment Lance could almost forget the danger they were both in, lost in the world spinning around him, going past faster than it should, lost in Shiro’s warm flanks beneath him and lost in his absolute trust towards him.

But they had a mission. And if they failed, Keith would pay the price. And so Lance kept his eyes open, watched the trees below, refused to relax for even a second.

“There!” He thumped a hand against Shiro’s shoulder and hoped he could hear him above the rushing of the wind. “There! The lights!”

They could see torches up ahead, the villagers swarming out amidst the forest in spots of gold and red amidst the pitch black. As they got closer, Lance could even hear the shouts, loud and frenzied, excited. Lance didn’t realize what that excitement must mean at first, until they drew closer and...

“Oh no.” Lance whispered. “Oh gods, please no.”

Beneath him, Shiro trembled, his wings faltering. They dropped just a bit before Shiro could gather himself, but it was long enough that Lance had gotten a clear view.

Keith, tangled in a net, growling but prone and surrounded by steadily advancing, angry farmers armed with fire and with iron.

“Shiro!” He shouted over the whistling wind as they rose again, circled around. “Shiro, go down! We need to go down!”

Shiro obeyed.

Lance could see the villagers below him, the people he had called friends, the people he had worked alongside. He could see them, faces upturned, fear and surprise flickering in the light of the fire as the shadow passed overhead. Then they realized what it was, and they began to shout, to exclaim, to draw back.

Shiro landed in the middle of the clearing, wings outstretched, teeth bared, and Lance on his back wielding a crossbow. Lance knew full well that no one had seen Shiro before- he had always been too careful, and now they saw him, a lion even more massive than the others, pitch black with eyes like silver fire. With wings oustretched, Shiro looked wrong, a creature too big to belong in this world, an animal so disproportionate, so disjointed with the rest of nature you thought it might disappear at any second like a nightmarish phantom. His very size was enough to send fear through you, and Lance could see how it did, could see it shuddering through the villagers, running cold down their backs, rooting them to the ground.

The villagers stared. Lance glared.

With slow deliberation, Lance swung his leg over the back of the lion. He straightened, crossbow held loosely, looking around with the confidence of a dangerous man. “Hello, everyone.” He said calmly, trying to hide his own panic. His thoughts were going a mile a minute, flitting from idea to idea, trying to find one that might just work. The villagers stared, but they were slowly coming back to life, anger and betrayal flashing across their faces in between bouts of uncertainty, their grips tightening on swords and knives and axes. The metal glinted coldly in the flickering torchlight.

“Listen,” Lance declared loudly, letting his crossbow swing casually. “Listen very carefully, and don’t miss even a bit. I’m going to free him. You’re going to let me. And then you’re all going to turn around, go back to the tavern and tell the story of tonight to your children and your grandchildren. And you will be glad,” Lance hefted his crossbow and let his voice grow cold. “You will be glad you’re still alive.”

Nothing happened. The forest was frozen, the leaves not even daring to rustle, the crowd in front of him and the massive lion behind him still as statues.

Lance sighed softly, forced himself to smile, and lowered the crossbow.

Instantly, someone started moving, a flash of iron, a blur of movement. Before the farmer had even taken a step, Lance had shouldered his crossbow and fired the bolt. Behind him, Shiro snarled, lifting his wings even higher.

Fear rushed out of the crowd in one great breath. The youth who had moved, who had thought Lance was letting his guard down and had thought that he was any weaker even when he did, was pinned to a tree by a crossbow bolt through his chest, breathing hard through the fear and the pain, the shock too much for him to even scream.

Lance was the one who wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and apologize, to try and make it better with tears streaming down his face. He felt himself crumble, felt something in him snap, leaving nothing but whirling panic. It had been so fast, so sudden. He hadn’t even had time to think. Lance felt everything, all his fear and all his panic, all his calm and all his warmth, leave him in one frozen wave. In the faces turned towards him, Lance saw the last tendrils of doubt and confusion harden into cold, icy rage.

Lance had killed before. He had never wanted to, but he had. But still, he had never killed like this. Never killed someone this helpless. Never killed someone he had once been friends with.

He turned away, neatly pushed back everything, every regret and emotion, drew his knives,  and approached the net.

“Hey,” he whispered to Keith, felt the crowd at his back stay frozen in anticipation, felt the tension tingle down his spine. “I’m going to get you out.”

Something snapped, almost audible in the sudden release of tension. Someone yelled, and it spurred on the rest, an entire crowd too angry to be afraid, storming towards them with fire and iron, and all that separated a helpless Lance and tied up Keith was Shiro, Shiro standing alone against a crowd.

Lance hardly noticed the noises of a fight behind him, hardly noticed the way Shiro’s wings buffeted him as he beat them wildly, frantically, growling and snapping and trying to hold the humans at a distance. Lance was focused only on the net in his hand, rough twine under his fingers, his knife sawing steadily but so, so slowly.

Finally, one of the strings snapped, and Lance sawed at another, again and again, hoping despite hope that somehow the tangled mess would fall apart, that somehow he could do enough, that somehow he was fast enough.

As soon as he had cut enough strings, Lance fitted Keith’s paw through the hole and kept sawing frantically. Keith roared and pulled, tugged his head back, pushed his paw forward, and suddenly the net snapped, snapped almost completely, tangling around Keith’s hind legs and falling away from the front.

“Shiro!” Lance yelled, tugging the net off of Keith, away from his wings, and finally Keith could roll to stand up. Lance tightened his grip on his knives, and he ran.

He ran and he leapt over Shiro’s back with a cry, knives raised, face vicious. Before him, the crowd drew back, the farmers he had once seen as friends staring at him with the fear of an ordinary man faced with something too dark and too dangerous to understand. For just a second, Lance felt regret as he stared into the faces of people he knew, but then, behind him, Keith was stumbling to his feet and beating his wings to get away and Shiro was nudging at him.

Lance sheathed his knives and sprang onto Shiro’s back in the same movement, drew his crossbow and levelled it at the gathered crowd. “The lions won’t bother you anymore,” he promised, hoarsely, quietly, and he stayed with his crossbow trained on the crowd, watching their stares of hatred and betrayal while Shiro beat his wings and they swept up in the night sky, until the faces of his friends were no more than pale, shimmering ovals in the dark.

Then, Lance grabbed at Shiro’s mane, leaned forward, and, with a shuddering breath, feeling all the fear and tension and panic catching up to him suddenly, let himself cry.

 

They flew fast and hard, whirling higher and higher, far higher than they had been before. Lance was too numb for fear. He stared down into the darkness, noticing only vaguely how far up they were with the only thing keeping him from falling his tenuous grip on Shiro’s mane.

In front of them, Keith was flying fast, listing slightly to the side, wings unsteady. The net was still tangled around his back paws. Lance tried to force his thoughts towards worry for him, forcing his mind away from the image of someone pinned to a tree by his crossbow bolt, but it didn’t work.

Beneath him, Shiro trembled and shuddered, wings shaking unsteadily for a second. He jerked midflight, tipping to the side just a bit, and Lance’s attention snapped to him, back to reality and away from the screams.

“Shiro?” He asked, and now he could hear the pained, heavy pants. “Shiro, are you hurt?” He ran his hands over the lion’s shoulders, along the base of his wings, trying to feel for blood or wounds. He hadn’t noticed anything, but the entire situation had been so panicked he could easily have missed something. Yet under his hands he felt nothing, and Shiro’s movements did not seem like he was avoiding a single injured spot.

Lance looked up at the moon, just past its zenith, and the realization hit him with the force of a nightmare just as Shiro jerked again, sinking suddenly. In front of them Keith laboured more and more with every movement.

They were transforming.

Lance didn’t know how he had ever forgotten just how high up in the air they were. It hit him now, a slow realization. His heart fell, right to the ground so far below.

“Shiro!” He shouted, pounding on his shoulder. “Land! Just land!”

The lion growled, baring his teeth with a glare. It was the first time he had directed that glare at Lance, but he knew it from years of being under Shiro’s leadership. It was the glare he gave new recruits when they were distracting him on a dangerous mission, the glare he gave Kolivan when he messed with his plans. It was a glare that said, very clearly, _I know what I’m doing and you’re stopping me from doing it._

Lance shut up and clung on for dear life.

Before and beneath them, the forest was lightening. In the distance a familiar cliff face rose up. Hunk and Pidge would be waiting just beneath it, on the verge of transformation themselves. It was too far, way too far. Shiro was already shedding feathers, their flight becoming more and more unsteady by the second. The trees below them got nearer and nearer, and Lance suddenly realized that as close as they were to the ground now, landing couldn’t be much safer now than simply falling.

Shiro was shedding below him, grunting and whimpering and panting, putting every last bit of straining energy into reaching just a little further.

They passed the last trees in a sudden burst, and the world suddenly seemed to collapse. On either side of Lance, the wings disintegrated in a final flurry of feathers, Shiro’s body shrank down as if deflated. The world spun around him, and suddenly they were falling, careening down and forward, and the ground was coming at them worryingly fast.

Lance reached out and held onto Shiro for dear life.

They crashed together, arms wrapped around each other, Lance’s face buried in Shiro’s shoulder. The impact was sudden, jarring, and Shiro yelled as he hit the ground back first. Lance felt something pop just beneath his cheek, and then they were rolling, tumbling, sliding to a slow stop.

Lance looked up. “We’re alive.” He whispered. Just next to them, Keith was lying spread-eagled, sobbing for breath, net tangled around his legs and something dark and distinctly metallic sticking out of his shoulder. In the middle distance, Hunk and Pidge were running, unsteady on newly formed legs, shouting hoarsely. Beneath him, Shiro lay prone, head tipped back with a smile on his face.

Lance laughed. Shiro chuckled. Keith wheezed. And then they were all laughing, exhausted and relieved, all the tension of the evening draining out of them. Underneath Lance, Shiro’s chest heaved with his wheezing chuckles, forced out past the pain. Lance looked down at Shiro’s laughing face, at the tilt of his head, the stretch of his neck, and with a sudden, deep intensity, he found himself wanting to kiss him.

It was a sudden impulse, so strong and so powerful, and ringing so true in a bone-deep way he couldn’t explain. It felt right, like it should have been there all along, like maybe it had been, latent, undiscovered, but constantly lurking. It was a desire so sudden and clear Lance didn’t know how he had ever wanted anything else before that day.

Lance wanted to kiss Shiro, and for one brief moment that was all that had ever mattered.

Hunk and Pidge reached them in an alarmed, loud rush, and everything shifted back with the finality of a spell breaking. Lance scrambled to his feet, wincing in pain, just barely managing to push himself off Shiro before collapsing. His knees ached, his shoulders ached. His arms were scraped, one of his legs couldn’t hold his own weight, and there was blood in his mouth. But he was fine. He was alive.

“I think I dislocated my shoulder.” Shiro whispered beside him. From the other side, Keith huffed in obvious pain. “I think my shoulder isn’t doing that great, either.”

“Oh god.” Hunk had obviously just seen Keith’s injury. Lance could see him go distinctly green even in the pale moonlight. “Oh god.” Hunk whispered again. For a healer he really had no stomach for pain. “Pidge.” Hunk finally ordered in a shaky voice. “Help Shiro with his shoulder. Lance, buddy, are you alright? Come help me hold him down.”

Lance crawled over to Keith awkwardly, dragging one leg behind him, and leaned over Keith.

“You’re alive.” He whispered. Keith grimaced. “Not quite sure yet if that’s a good thing.”

“Oh, shut up and be grateful I saved you.” Lance snarked back, placing his hands securely on Keith’s uninjured shoulder and his ribcage just below the punctured flesh. This close he could see just how gruesome the entire thing was. The knife in Keith’s shoulder was a hunting knife, long and sharp and barbed and probably not very clean.

Hunk bent over Keith and composed himself. It always astounded Lance, how Hunk could go from panic to surgical calm in a matter of seconds. His queasiness just a second ago had vanished completely. “Lance.” Hunk ordered now, “did you bring medical supplies?”

“In the bag.” Lance replied. Beyond them, Shiro let out a scream as Pidge relocated his shoulder, and a second later, Pidge was at their side with a bag in her hand.

“Good.” Hunk muttered. “Now hold on.”

Hunk took his own knife and dug it in. Keith screamed, back bowed, muscles taught, face screwed up in agony. Lance held on with all his might as Hunk shifted the knife until he could dig out the implement from Keith’s shoulder, yanking. Keith screamed one more time and finally passed out.

Lance stayed at Hunk’s side as he cleaned the wound, sowed it shut, dressed and bandaged it. Shiro hovered above them like an anxious ghost the whole time.

“He’s going to be fine.” Hunk reassured, but Shiro looked just as worried as always. “Now let me look at your injuries. Lance, stay with Keith.”

Hunk and Shiro moved away to where Pidge had lit a small fire in the cave mouth. Lance stayed by Keith’s side, carefully draping his cloak over him for warmth and watching him silently until his eyes fluttered open again.

“Hey.” Keith whispered hoarsely. “Is it over?”

Lance lifted the knife Hunk had dug out of Keith’s shoulder. “Yeah.” He said. “Take your time. We can join the others whenever you’re strong enough.”

Keith struggled into a sitting position and reached out his uninjured hand for the knife. Lance reached out to steady him and pass the knife into his hand. Keith looked at the blade, twisting it here and there, watching the way it reflected the distant firelight. It was a good knife, that much was obvious, sharp and barbed, perfectly balanced for throwing, with a bone and copper handle.

“Sweet.” Keith said slowly. “Do you think I can keep it?”

 

 Lance was admiring Shiro’s face in the firelight.

The others were talking, probably something serious, probably something he should be paying attention to. But Lance was far too busy staring at the way the firelight carved Shiro’s cheekbones, softened the curve of his plush lips, gave his silver eyes a warm, flickering light.

Lance had always found Shiro attractive. Who didn’t, he thought to himself. You only needed eyes and perhaps the tiniest amount of good taste to realize, admit and accept that Shiro was a stunning specimen of a human being. Lance had decided that he was just going to live with it. Even after finding Shiro again after Lance had assumed him dead, once their warm, caring bond grew stronger and stronger and started growing out of the confines of mere friendship, Lance had elected to simply ignore it.

Shiro was gorgeous, Lance was not, and he would rather value what they had than jeopardize everything for what might never be.

But it had taken no more than a heartbeat, one brief moment after a night full of fear, for Lance to fully realize the extent of his feelings. Before, the world had stood still just for them, just for _him_ to realize what it was he had been pushing aside so long.

Lance wanted to kiss Takashi Shirogane. He really did. In some way, he always had. But more than that, more than anything, Lance wanted to love Takashi Shirogane.

Desires were easy to push aside when they were physical. Lance knew this, and so that was what he had kept it. A physical desire, carefully controlled and smothered . But once the desires were emotional, things got more complicated. But Lance could no longer deny that that was exactly what it was. Emotional.

Lance watched Shiro’s face, watched his large and gentle hands. Knowing how soon all of it would be torn from him just made him watch more fondly. He sat in silence and cherished the moments they had. If only he could find some way to break the curse. Some way to look at Shiro forever.

“I know what we need to do.” He said suddenly, realizing what he had completely forgotten in the long hours of panic. He had said the words quietly, with a slow thoughtfulness, but all conversation around the fire instantly halted anyway. The others looked up at him with wide eyes and bated breath.

“What?” Hunk asked with hoarse disbelief coating his tongue thickly.

“I... the plan finally worked.” Lance said. He felt oddly dizzy now that the panic wasn’t obscuring his excitement. This was their first real chance at a solution. “I think I know what we should do... or at least where we need to go.”

Everyone leaned forward, eyes trained intensely on him. “Altea.” Lance said.

Silence. The fire crackled. Team Voltron looked at each other. “Altea.” Keith finally breathed, like someone who is just now seeing something that had been obvious for so long. He looked up at Lance with a kind of bewilderment, as if he couldn’t believe Lance had found the answer before he had thought of it. “I’ve heard of that place.”

“I haven’t.” Hunk looked from one to the other. “What is it?”

“It’s supposed to be a haven for magic.” Lance explained. “At least as powerful as the Galra.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s so much more than that.” He said with a soft reverence. “My mother...” His voice cracked. “My mother told me it’s the source of all magic. A place of safety and beauty. They seek knowledge like the Galra seek power, like humans seek gold.” He looked up, his eyes shining. “They’ve unlocked the secrets of our world. Their magic isn’t just more powerful than the Galra. Even the Galra witch... my mother told me she’s from Altea.” Lance had never before heard so much hope in his voice. “She said it’s in the East, all the way across the Great Ocean. She said they send out the sun every morning.” He chuckled fondly. “Granted, that part might just be a story she added.”

Nobody dared speak. Keith never talked about his past or his family. His face was soft and fond in the firelight, more open than Lance had ever seen it in all their years of close quarters. He felt like he was witnessing something he shouldn’t, like he had accidentally opened up a part of Keith that was too brilliant, too soft for the world to see.

Keith looked up, noticing their silence. He laughed nervously when he noticed everyone’s eyes on him, awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, obviously overwhelmed. Shiro cleared his throat to divert everyone’s attention away from him. “It sounds like a fair shot.” He said lowly. “Better than anything else we’ve come across so far. It sounds like...” He didn’t sound like he wanted to hope. “It sounds like we might have a chance.”

“That is, if it isn’t all a fairy tale.” Keith interjected lowly, all his sharp edges carefully back in place.

“Only one way to find out.” Lance grinned boldly. “We fly East. All the way to where they release the sun.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip! With four lions and one assassin. What could go wrong?

They’d been flying for only a few hours when Keith fell from the sky.

He’d been listing unsteadily to the side since they had left, but judging by the others’ worried whimpers and nudges and Keith’s angry replying growls, he was insisting that he was fine. Lance felt oddly helpless, unable to understand the lions as they apparently argued among themselves. He could do nothing but sit on Hunk’s back and hope that the others knew what was best for Keith.

Apparently they didn’t, or Keith was simply too stubborn, because just before midday, the beating of his wings growing slow and ponderous as he struggled, it was finally too much, and he fell.

They had been flying low for a while now to accommodate Keith’s struggling, and Keith rolled up immediately, unhurt. The others landed quickly and Lance slid off Hunk’s back.

“Let’s take a break.” He said firmly, and Keith probably would have argued, but the beauty of it was that Lance wouldn’t understand even if he tried. Instead, Keith just growled and slumped down, looking decidedly miserable as Shiro flopped down next to him and began grooming him with gentle, comforting licks. Lance had to smile.

“Alright, Shiro.” He said very gently, pushing away the large lion. “Let me take a look at his wounds.” Shiro whined playfully and flopped onto his stomach, letting Lance push him aside to get closer to Keith. He curled against him as Lance carefully pulled the bandages away from Keith’s shoulder, and if he could, Lance was positive he would have been purring as he comfortingly butted his head against Keith’s flank and curled his tail around Lance’s forearm. Shiro’s warm satisfaction faded the moment Lance had removed the bandages, turning to whining concern instead.

The wound was large and ugly. The stitches Hunk had done the night before were torn partially open, and blood was leaking into the compress. Lance sighed heavily. “We should have stopped long before.” He tutted. “Keith, why didn’t you say something?”

Keith growled, and Shiro growled right back, snapping at him in disapproval.

“Shiro’s right.” Lance muttered, not knowing what Shiro was right about. He fished about in his bags for needle and gut. “Now let me stitch you up again, and this time don’t break them. They won’t be as pretty as Hunk’s, but that’s your own fault for not appreciating Hunk’s artistry and tearing it.”

He placed a gentle hand against Keith’s shoulder and pressed down, holding him as he began to sew. Keith let out heavily laboured breaths and whines, but stayed blessedly still. Lance knew full well that if Keith so much as twitched, he wouldn’t be able to hold him. Apparently he had more control in lion form, or just a better tolerance for pain, because he stayed still, panting heavily, until Lance pulled together the final stitch and broke off the gut. Lance redressed and clumsily rebandaged it, pushing Keith down again when he tried to stand the moment Lance was done.

“You stay right there.” He said. “We’re stopping for food, and then _maybe_ I’ll let you keep going.”

Keith whined and flopped back down, somehow managing a pout despite his lack of any human features. Lance snorted with laughter and simply started preparing his lunch.

“I’ve come to a decision. “ He said once he had eaten. “We’re walking.”

All four of the lions growled in disapproving unison.

“Shut up.” Lance said, crossing his arms. “It’s a good idea.”

Keith glared. Lance gently nudged a finger against his nose. “Don’t look at me like that.” He said. “And don’t act like you can just keep flying in your state.”

Keith snapped at his finger, and Lance snatched it back with a mocking gasp. “Rude!” He said. “I have only your best interests at heart. Walking is less stressful on your wound than flying, but we’ll still appease your absolutely horrible self-sacrificial determination.”

Hunk growled in disapproval. “I know he should rest.” Lance scratched just behind Hunk’s ears. “But fact is, we need to keep moving, and this should be a lot safer than flying. Besides,” he grinned. “You can’t argue with me when you’re like this.”

He smiled as both Hunk and Keith visibly deflated. “I told you it’s a good idea.” He said.

 

They walked for two days before they reached the coast, and Keith could hardly be convinced not to immediately take flight and keep going. Of course there was no chance in hell they would attempt an ocean crossing with Keith still injured, but Lance almost had to tie Keith down to keep him from trying anyway.

When they all transformed, Keith came out of his lion form, still shedding feathers and fur and positively _fuming._ “Stop treating me like a weakness!” He snarled in Lance’s face, voice cracking hoarsely in a throat still changing to accommodate them.

“I’m not treating you like a weakness.” Lance replied calmly. “I’m treating you like a threat.”

_“What?”_

“Threats need to be neutralized. Your injury is a threat. You fall, we have to help you, spending valuable time and resources. You get worse, we’re all helpless. Your injury isn’t a weakness, it’s a threat, and I’m treating it like one.”

Keith was speechless for a long moment. Shiro came up behind them. “Keith, you can’t expect yourself to be at full strength for a while yet. You need to go slow. We’re all just caring for you.”

Keith turned to glare at Shiro, opening his mouth as if about to say something, but in the end he simply turned around and stormed off. Lance sighed. Shiro looked at him in sympathy.

“I’m sorry.” He said. “Keith’s just... mad at himself, I suppose, for putting us all in danger.”

Lance smiled wryly. “He never was very good at thank-yous.”

“No.” Shiro laughed, and his brilliant smile did funny things to Lance’s stomach. “I’ve always had to do that for him.” He turned to look Lance in the eye. Lance gulped, something fluttering in his chest at the warmth in Shiro’s eyes. “Thank you, Lance.” Shiro said softly. “You’re taking over leadership so very well, and I’m so proud of you.”

Lance’s face went warm. “It’s...” He laughed nervously. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

“Leadership out of necessity doesn’t make it any less challenging, and doesn’t make your achievements any less impressive.”

Lance’s stomach swooped. He could have listened to Shiro’s warm, deep voice forever. He could have spent a lifetime just bathing in the praise, revelling in Shiro’s pride.

“We’ll stay here for a while until Keith has healed enough to fly the distance.” Shiro continued. “I’ll go and try to get him used to the idea.”

“That sounds good. He listens to you. He respects you.”

Shiro smiled and laid a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Lance leaned into the touch happily. “He respects you too, Lance. He trusts you. We all do.” He drew his hand back, far too soon for Lance’s liking, and walked after Keith before Lance could say so much as a word. “Thank you.” Lance whispered, far too late for Shiro to even hear him.

“Wow, he is _smitten.”_

Lance jumped as Hunk appeared at his side suddenly. “Holy shit, Hunk! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry.” Hunk said. “But he looked so in love and I had the feeling you wouldn’t even notice if I didn’t point it out.”

“He didn’t look _in love,_ Hunk, he was just being nice to me.”

“Uh huh. See, this is exactly what I’m trying to prevent here.” Hunk sounded completely exasperated. “He is absolutely smitten, and you’re far too scared to even see it.”

“Hunk, stop getting my hopes up.” Lance pushed at his shoulder with a smile but couldn’t get him to so much as sway.

“Stop keeping your hopes down or nothing’s ever going to happen!” Hunk protested. “Look, you’re both so obviously into each other, and you’re just ignoring it. It’s sad.”

Lance hesitated. “I don’t know, Hunk. I think he’s just like that with everyone.”

Hunk snorted. “Yeah, but he doesn’t _look_ at them like that. Of course he treats everyone with love and respect, that’s just who he _is,_ but you should see the way he looks at you!”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Lance shut him down firmly. “Besides, even if you were right, we both don’t have time to act on it right now. We have other things to do.”

“There’s always time for some sex between friends.”

Lance yelled in surprise as Pidge appeared at his side suddenly. “Quiznak! Don’t any of you know how to make a noise while moving? Or are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?”

Pidge shrugged. “You’re just a shitty spy, letting us sneak up on you like that.”

Lance stuck out his tongue.

“Oh, very mature.” Pidge snarked. “I’m sure Shiro will love that.”

“I’m not...!” Lance snapped his mouth shut, not even knowing what to say about that. He glared at Pidge. “Just shut up.”

 

Lance was careful around Shiro after that, to the point that even Shiro, dense as he could sometimes be, noticed.

“Is something wrong, Lance?” He asked one night after cornering Lance away from everyone else. “Did I do something wrong? You’ve been strangely distant lately.”

Lance flinched away from the hurt look in Shiro’s eyes. It was like kicking a puppy. “No!” He said hurriedly. He wanted to reach out, take Shiro’s hand, cup his face, kiss his lips and tell him everything was alright. “No, I promise. You haven’t done anything. It must be the... uh, the stress I suppose. I might just be getting stir-crazy.”

“Oh.” Shiro softened slightly, but still looked slightly upset. “We’ll be on the road again soon. Keith is almost well enough to travel.”

“That’s good news.” It really was. Lance was getting more and more anxious by the day, eager to do something. “Yeah.” Shiro smiled. “Well, then... I, uh, I guess I’ll leave you alone.”

“You don’t have to!” Lance said hurriedly, surprising even himself. Shiro turned back around, staring at Lance. “What?” He looked at Lance like he had suddenly given him the world for no reason at all.

“I, uh... I’ve missed our closeness?” Lance looked away, flushing. “I didn’t even notice, but you’re right... I’ve been kinda distant.”

He hadn’t intended to, not by any means. He had simply tried to pay more attention to Shiro, what he was doing, how he was looking at Lance, the way he was touching him. But inadvertently that care had turned to caution, to Lance pulling away from physical contact, avoiding Shiro’s eyes. Maybe once Lance had started looking, he simply hadn’t liked what he had seen. He had gotten his hopes up, and not having them confirmed must have made him unconsciously pull away. But he missed their friendship. He missed Shiro’s touches and Shiro’s soft laughter. He’d been a damn fool to think he could simply disentangle himself from Shiro like that.

“Are you sure?” Shiro asked softly, reverently. Lance nodded. “Yeah.”

“So... I didn’t do anything wrong?” Shiro questioned hopefully. Lance shook his head. “No.” He said firmly. “I’m just an idiot.”

Shiro smiled, and Lance realized with a sudden lurch in his gut how much he had missed that smile. “You’re not an idiot.” Shiro said softly. Lance ducked his head, feeling his face go warm. “You’re just saying that because I’m your only hope to break the curse.”

Shiro chuckled, and Lance jumped as he felt a warm hand under his chin, tilting his head up so he was forced to look at Shiro. Lance stared, lips parting slightly. Shiro looked down at him, so close, his hand so soft against Lance’s face. “First off, no.” Shiro laughed. “I’m saying it because it’s true. And Lance, I would never choose anyone else to stand by our side trying to break this curse. I trust you with my life.” Lance’s breath caught. “I’m glad that it’s you, because I know full well just how capable you are.”

Lance pulled away just a bit, suddenly overwhelmed by Shiro’s warmth, by the intensity in his eyes. “Don’t overdo it.” He mumbled, blushing as he looked anywhere but at him. Shiro laughed, bright and loud and beautiful. “Noted.” He said, and Lance suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything.

 

Hunk gave Keith permission to travel just a few days later. “I don’t like it,” he said, “and it’s still far too early, but it should at least be safe. You won’t crash at least.”

Keith beamed. “So, we can leave?” He asked eagerly. Hunk sighed. “We can leave.” He admitted.

“If we plan all the details tonight, we can start tomorrow morning.” Shiro decided, no-nonsense as always. “Pidge, do we know if there’s any islands or outcroppings where we can rest?” Shiro asked. Pidge shook her head. “None. We’ll go directly over the ocean from here and hope we can be fast enough to reach the other side by midnight. There might be islands, but we have to expect a full day’s flight without rest. From here we should face the shortest possible crossing, but there is the risk that during the day we might not be able to orient ourselves and lose time.”

“I suppose that’s a risk we have to take.” Shiro mused. “After all, four winged lions on a ship would arouse some suspicion. I’ll take Lance on my back from the beginning. Hunk, you’re the strongest, but you’re already the slowest so any additional stress might slow us down too much. If we can take a break, you’ll carry Lance after it.”

Hunk nodded. “That sounds fair.”

“Keith,” Shiro turned. “If you fall, there isn’t anything we can do.”

Keith set his jaw. “I know. As long as you get to Altea safely.”

“This is already risky.” Shiro continued. “Even if something goes wrong, we can’t stop. Are you prepared to face that?” He looked around at everyone, holding their gazes.

Lance nodded. They had gone on so many missions together, and all of them were uncertain. There was never a guarantee that all of them would come out alive. They had all learned early to face the loss and move on.

“We start at dawn. Get some sleep.” Shiro said firmly. “Tomorrow will come soon enough.”

 

The sun was just barely peeking above the horizon when they left. Lance was on Shiro’s back, clinging on for dear life. They started slowly, steadily. It would be a taxing journey for all of them, flying for so long without a pause and without eating. He realized the first hour in that this journey would be just as difficult for him as for the others.

He may not be victim to the exhaustion the others must already be feeling, but pain was already building up in his legs and hands. The wind whipped against him, freezing him to the bone even when he leant forward to bury his face in Shiro’s mane. He could already feel his muscles stiffening and cramping, making it more difficult to hold on, already knew that at one point hunger and thirst would take hold, make him dizzy and weak. But there could be no turning back. Their only option was to hope for the best and plunge on.

Lance kept a wary eye on Keith. He flew steadily and speedily, his injury hardly seeming to impact his flight, but Lance could see the pinched lines of his face, the stiffness in his limbs. Lance just hoped he could hold on.

They flew and flew and flew, no end in sight. Lance watched the waves in between fits of drowsy dizziness, but he couldn’t see even a small spur of rock. The lions were growing slower, wings beating heavily and slowly. Pidge was panting slightly, and Keith was moving irregularly, occasionally buffeted around by winds he no longer had the strength to stand against. Lance’s entire body was cramping, begging him to simply release. He would be exhausted and sore, but that was nothing compared to what the others must be feeling.

The sun set, transforming the world into a tapestry of reds and golds. The light reflected off the waves brightly, making any hope of discerning some kind of resting place impossible. Lance knew that once the sun was gone, the sea below would become a single black mass, and any hope of finding an island would be gone for good. From here on out, they had no hope but to keep flying.

Keith’s flight was becoming more unsteady, but even Shiro and Hunk were beginning to list and wobble, subject to the whims of the wind.

When the sun had set, a concern much more jarring than hunger, thirst or exhaustion took hold. How long did they have before they would lose hold on their lion form?

It was too late to even entertain the idea. After all, what could Lance do now? They couldn’t well turn back. And so they flew on, fear knotting Lance’s stomach tighter and tighter by the moment.

They were flying low enough for the lion’s paws to be brushing the surface of the water when Lance saw it. A cliff darker than the night sky around it, rising high before them, a single unscaleable wall of rock reaching up to the night sky, blotting out the stars.

Lance shouted, patting Shiro’s flank, pointing, and the lions noticed it too, surging forward in some kind of last desperate dash. But it was so far, and they were all at their limit. Keith had bled through his bandages again, and his injured wing was hanging limp, just barely holding him up. Even Lance was at the verge of collapse, muscles sore, eyes red, lips chapped and bleeding.

Lance dug his fingers into Shiro’s mane, buried his face in the soft strands and sent up a prayer.

They drew closer and closer, reaching the absolute limits of their strength and desperately past. Pidge and Hunk began to draw ahead, closer and closer, but both Shiro and Keith were labouring hard, drifting slowly lower and lower. The cliff face loomed closer and closer above them, blotting out the moon. Lance could already hear the waves crashing against the rocks like an angry beast.

And then there was a splash.

Keith’s wings had given out, simply folded away under him and sending him crashing into the icy salt water. A kind of cold, desperate fear rushed over Lance. They were so close...

Keith was thrashing desperately in the waves, adrenaline filling him with renewed strength, but he was unable to get back into the air. Lance bit his lip, hesitating, but they were so close...

“Shiro!” He shouted. “Keep going!”

Shiro faltered, alarmed, but he was too late. Lance slipped off his back easily and fell into the water with a splash.

For a second, he could do nothing, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Black spots filled his vision as pain flooded him all at once, the pain of his cramped muscles finally releasing, the stinging pain of saltwater on his chapped lips and in his eyes. Then came the cold, freezing ice poured in his very veins, shocking a gasp from him, cold so deep and dark and heavy he forgot the pain.

The water dragged at him, dragged him down beneath the surface, and for one long moment Lance thought he would drown, unable to find the strength in his limbs to swim back to the surface.

Then his instincts kicked in, one single hot flash burning out all his thoughts, all the pain and the cold and the fear. There was only one thing on his mind. _Air._

He kicked out powerfully, reaching towards what he hoped was the surface, rising up, up, up. He was glad he didn’t have his weapons on him, no metal dragging him back down, but even his simple cotton and leather clothing was an impossible weight.

He broke the surface with a gasp, already looking around for Keith. He had him located instantly, still thrashing in the water just to Lance’s left.

“Keith!” He shouted past the waves, and the lion turned to him, eyes frantic, nose and mouth just barely above the water. The sea around him was a frothing, boiling pool, paws and wings flailing to stay on the surface. “Keith!” Lance reached the very tip of his wing, grabbed it and tugged desperately. “Keith, stay completely calm. Stop moving!”

The lion huffed out heavy breaths, scared and frantic, and for a moment Lance thought he was sunk too deep in panic to even hear him, but then, finally, he stilled, calming for just a second. He began sinking instantly, and thrashed even wilder, his wing tearing from Lance’s grasp.

“Keith!” Lance shouted again. “You need to calm down and trust me! Don’t you trust me?”

 _He listens to you,_ Shiro had said.  _He trusts you._

“Please!” Lance begged, regaining his grip on the very tip of Keith’s wing. Keith stilled again, breathing heavy, and even as he sunk just a little bit deeper, he didn’t panic again, but let himself float with his nose just barely above the surface of the water.

“Relax.” Lance implored gently, and Keith did, all the tension draining out of his wing with a shudder, letting Lance tug it towards him.

Lance tugged the wing straight out to its full breadth, and Keith caught on instantly, spreading out his second wing with a pained whimper. He lay on the surface of the water, supported by his spread wings. Lance breathed out and swam closer, resting a hand on Keith’s face. “Thank you.” Lance whispered. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Keith’s eyes were still frantic, but his movements were calm now, his wings moving up and down lazily to keep him at the surface. “Now,” Lance continued. “Just stay very, very calm. Keep your wings spread out, and paddle to the surface. You know how dogs swim? Just like that. You can do it, Keith. I know you can. I’ll be right by your side.”

The lion huffed, his eyes wide with animal fear, but finally he moved, slowly, paws kicking, wings outspread. “Good.” Lance said, speaking as he would to a spooked horse. “That’s great. Come on. Just to the shore.”

They swam together, slowly and steadily. Keith was still huffing heavily, both in pain and in fear, but Lance kept up his steady, calming encouragement, and they slowly made their way towards the shore, closer and closer. Lance could already see the hulking shadows of the others, just barely standing out against the dark cliff face, and he aimed them towards those shapes and the shore. They probably couldn’t see either him or Keith, and his heart clenched at the fear they must be feeling, the helplessness. The thought made him kick harder, determined to make it.

The swim was far longer than he had anticipated at first. Lance had always been a strong swimmer, but even he struggled. His clothes dragged him down, the cold making his movements slow and sluggish. He breathed out deeply and kept going. At one point he unfastened his cloak, letting the wet cotton float down into the depths, followed by his boots. Keith’s breaths were getting slower and slower, the pants of a man losing his strength.

“Keith.” Lance could hardly speak past the cold and the exhaustion. “Keith, we’re so close. We have to keep going. Think of the others, Keith. Think of Shiro. He can’t lose you.”

Keith swam with a renewed burst of energy.

Lance’s mind was growing foggy. At this point he was moving without even noticing, paddling numbly along. All he knew was that he had to keep going.

He didn’t register anything around him. He couldn’t even tell if Keith was still with him or if he was swimming alone, couldn’t tell if he was swimming in the right direction, if he was even moving at all. It all felt like a dream, a cold, black dream. There were noises, somewhere, but they were muffled and...

Someone grabbed Lance by the collar of his tunic and pulled. Lance went limp and let it happen. He was too cold to put up a fight. He could just let go, and so he did. His breathing was shallow, his entire body limp when suddenly he felt sand underneath him, cold and blessedly firm.

Strength returned to him in a rush of relief, and he stood, stumbling on weak legs, taking one step, another, and collapsing on firm, blessedly solid land. He looked to the side. Keith was right beside him, panting and whimpering in a puddle of saltwater, exhausted but alive. Lance smiled, not even noticing the sand in his hair and in his mouth, and then the world finally went black.

 

He awoke to a fire crackling, cradled against someone’s chest with a hand petting through his hair. He was out of his wet clothes, wrapped in layers and layers of cloth, and the fire was slowly warming up his chilled bones. Lance shifted murmuring, and he heard a sudden rush of gasps.

“Lance!” Hunk called out, and he loomed in his vision. “Lance, you’re awake, thank god you’re awake.”

“Hunk...” Lance croaked, his voice aching from the saltwater and the sand. His memories came back in a rush colder than the sea water. “Keith? Is Keith...”

“I’m fine.” Keith appeared, smiling, also dry and wrapped in blankets. “Thanks to you.”

“We’re all fine.” Shiro rumbled, and Lance realized with a start that was whose arms he was wrapped in, whose hands were carding through his hair. “We all made it, thanks to your stupid decision. What happened to leaving people behind for the sake of the mission?”

Lance smiled weakly, feeling all his exhaustion and all his panic reach a rising crest and fade. “I was never really good at that.” He murmured. Shiro chuckled. “No.” He said softly, and Lance could hear the barest tremble of emotion in his voice. “You never were.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me: I love writing dialogue!!! It's my absolute favourite thing to write!!!  
> Me to me: Deprive your 5 main characters of speech for 99% of the story.

They rested on the shore for the night, but by the next day the cold, the damp and the constant sea spray drove them away. They forced themselves up on the gusts of sea air to the top of the cliff, and finally landed on Altean soil.

It was a lush land of meadows and forest stretching up towards grey, snow-capped mountains in the distance. Splashes of colour disrupted the rich green, brilliantly coloured flowers spread in patches amidst the grass. The air felt clean and fresh, cold in a way that wasn’t yet unpleasant. Lance breathed in deep and dug his naked toes into the ground.

“You know what,” he said with a small smile, “even if we can’t break the curse, this doesn’t seem such a bad place.”

Shiro butted his head against him in approval and Pidge flopped down with a satisfied grunt. Lance nudged her with his foot. “Come on, Pigeon, none of that. Let’s find shelter and then you can rest.”

Pidge rolled over with a whine and Lance rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He said. “Just a few minutes.”

He looked around again. He liked this place. It made him feel safe, at peace in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time. Behind him, Shiro came up to press against his legs, curling a wing around him, and Lance bent down to wrap a hand around his neck. “We made it.” He whispered, and Shiro pressed his warm, dry nose into Lance’s cheek, making him giggle.

 

Once they had rested, they began walking, across the meadow with its sweet-smelling flowers until they reached the outskirts of the forest. Lance picked the flowers as they passed, threading them into the lions’ manes. They let him with indulgent huffs or fond nudges, and Lance thought that they must make quite a sight, one boy, barefoot and smiling and four huge winged lions with flowers in their mane.

They reached the edge of the forest and kept walking as the trees around them grew higher and darker, bushes and brambles sprawling out between the roots. Occasionally, Lance would ride on Hunk or Shiro’s back, clinging to their manes and watching the sun fall in dappled shades across the lions’ brightly coloured fur.

It felt peaceful. Now that they had finally made it to Altea, far from the Empire’s influence and closer than ever to breaking the curse, they moved without hurry or fear. In the late afternoon, as the sun was beginning to dip lower, Lance caught sight of shelter, a cave half-obscured behind dark vines, with a small spring bubbling past just beyond.

They decided to stay.

Later, with a fire started and a bed of moss and blankets prepared, they sat around the fire and thought.

“What do we do now?” Keith asked. “We’ve made it. Where do we go from here?”

“For now, we rest.” Hunk decided. “We all need to recover. Once we’ve all healed, we can think about what to do next.”

“Maybe we can get closer to civilization.” Lance offered. “Head to a city, see if there’s some kind of magic authority.”

“What, like a curse police?” Keith laughed. Lance pulled a face. “In a magic society, why not?”

“In any case, we’re going to have more luck finding a magic practitioner in a city.” Shiro agreed. “But Hunk is right; for now, we rest. We deserve it.”

 

They had dispersed and Lance was still at the fireside when Keith approached him.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Lance moved aside to make space for him. “Are you ready to admit the existence of a curse police?”

Keith chuckled lowly. “I’m actually here to say thank you. You risked your life for me, and I would never have gotten to the shore without you.”

Lance brushed him off. “You swam all on your own. You would have made it anyway.”

“I wouldn’t have managed to do so much as float without you.” Keith admitted. “There was nothing in my head but panic.”

“It’s alright, Keith.” Lance reached out. “I wasn’t about to leave you behind after I risked so much for you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Keith smiled. “But, here. I wanted to give you these.” He held up his boots. “Because you lost yours. And I don’t really need mine except for two hours a day.”

“That’s...” Lance reached out. He was touched, more by the thought than by the actual gift. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Keith smiled. “I’m just caring for you.”

He left, leaving Lance to pull on the boots, rejoicing in the warmth. He wiggled his toes happily, fondness blossoming in his heart. It felt pretty damn good.

 

“Lance.” Shiro greeted him as he approached, before he had even drawn alongside. “Shiro.” Lance replied, coming to stand next to him. They stood side by side, much like they had done not long before, staring out at the village that Lance had been forced to betray. Now their view was a more peaceful one; an endless expanse of meadows and stars, dipping down in the distance to the sea.

Shiro reached out and drew Lance close to his side, putting an arm around him.

“You lost your cloak.” He stated. Lance shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s fine. I can just use a blanket...”

“You can have mine.” Shiro said firmly, already reaching up to unbutton it. “It’s not like I need it.”

“Shiro...” Lance didn’t know what to say. Even the thought of wearing something that was Shiro’s, something that still carried his warmth and his smell, made his stomach swoop. “You really don’t have to.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Shiro said gently, reaching over to drape the cloak around Lance. It was long, reaching down to brush his ankles, and huge, but it was also warm and smelled like Shiro’s hugs. Lance smiled and buried his face in it.

“Thank you.” He said softly.

“Thank _you_.” Shiro replied. “For doing what you did. It was stupid, and reckless, but it paid off.”

“I couldn’t just leave him behind when we were so close.” Lance muttered. Shiro reached out and cupped Lance’s cheek with a considering look in his eyes. “You could have.” He said softly, watching Lance as if he held all the secrets of the universe in his eyes. “But you didn’t. That’s just who you are. Beautiful and brave and self-sacrificing.”

“Shiro...”

“You’d do anything for the team, and that’s what’s so special about you.” Shiro smiled. Lance blushed. “Shiro, please...” He pulled his face out of the others’ hands. Shiro’s face fell.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “I overstepped.”

“No, it’s...” Lance didn’t know what to make of it. His head was spinning, the smell of Shiro all around him, the weight of his gaze heavy. Lance breathed in deeply. “It’s fine.” _You’re just overwhelming,_ he wanted to say, _everything about you leaves me breathless._

The silence that fell was awkward for the first time. They weren’t used to awkwardness between them and so they stood next to each other, both searching on their own for some way to break the silence. Instead of words, Lance leaned into Shiro slightly, hoping to encourage some kind of touch, some spark of affection. Shiro put his arm around Lance, and one hand brushed against the small of his back. Lance gasped, moving into the touch, and Shiro’s hand settled there. Instantly, the dizziness from before swamped Lance again, tingling electrically over his skin. Shiro’s hand was hot against his back.

“Oh!” Shiro said suddenly, as if remembering something, a pulled a small tin pot from his coat. “I forgot- Hunk gave me this, for you.”

“For me?” Lance eyes the tin suspiciously.

“It’s something for your lips.” Shiro said. “Because, uh, the wind...”

“Oh. Thank you.” Lance reached out to take the tin, but Shiro refused to hand it over. “Here.” Shiro said, popping the lid off. “Let me.”

Lance couldn’t even protest, the words stuck in his throat with surprise as Shiro drew closer, _so close,_ close enough that Lance could see all the shades of grey in his eyes and the indents of his teeth on his bottom lip, and then Shiro reached down gently, cupping his face and rubbing one thumb over Lance’s bottom lip.

Lance hissed at the sting of both the touch and the ointment. “Sorry.” Shiro whispered, breath puffing out over Lance’s lips with tantalizing warmth.

Lance couldn’t reply, not with Shiro’s finger on his bottom lip and Shiro’s hand against his cheek. He stared, wide-eyed, unable to move, unable to breathe. Everything came crashing down on him in one roaring wave.

He noticed, vaguely, that Shiro hadn’t moved either, completely transfixed, breathing slow and steady and something like wonder in his eyes, shining like stars. Lance wanted to stay there forever, watch the dance of light over Shiro’s face, watch his eyes shine with wonder in hundreds of new shades, wanted, _wanted..._

“Shiro?” He whispered softly, and Shiro startled back into movement, eyes wide, lashes fluttering as if awakening from a dream. They watched each other. Shiro’s lips parted softly, and then his hand fell from Lance’s face and he moved to put distance between them.

Lance sighed, deflating, all the tension and excitement, all the crackling energy from just before fading, like a wave receding, like a supernova vanishing into oblivion after its brightest flare. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He looked up. Shiro looked back.

“Gods, Lance.” Shiro said, and then his lips were on Lance’s, his arms around his waist pulling him close. Lance’s lips burned painfully at the contact, still chapped and raw, but want burned brighter, so much want Lance could hardly think to contain it, poured it all out into his lips against Shiro’s and his hands in Shiro’s hair.

Electricity tingled through his skin at every touch, and he reached and grasped and touched every part of Shiro’s face that he could, gasping into the kiss, and Shiro used the opportunity to beg for entry, tongue flicking against Lance’s, and _this_ was the crest, the wave crashing down, the supernova exploding, burning brighter than anything else ever would.

Lance sighed and kissed Shiro back, desperately at first with all the urgency of having waited far too long, but then gentler, separating with laughs and sighs between kisses. Lance rested his forehead against Shiro’s, a smile on his lips. Shiro’s eyes were dancing with joy, his smile so wide Lance couldn’t help but lean in again, again, again.

They broke apart for the last time, laughing brightly. Lance was hardly holding up his own weight, leaning against Shiro with his arms slung firmly around his neck. “We’re idiots.” Lance whispered softly, realizing suddenly that the entire team had known and he had been far too blind.

“We are.” Shiro agreed. “But look at us now.”

“Now I’m at least a happy idiot.” Lance teased, leaning in to kiss Shiro’s nose, giggling as Shiro scrunched up his face so cutely. “You are?” Shiro asked breathlessly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“Uh, yeah?” Lance frowned. “I just had the life kissed out of me, I am very happy and very satisfied, thank you very much.”

Shiro laughed and braced his forehead against Lance’s. Lance could have been able to count his lashes, see the tiny freckles dotting the sharp bridge of his nose. “Good.” Shiro breathed, leaning in to capture his mouth again. Lance hummed happily.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and he pushed Shiro away. “Wait, when are you transforming back? I’d rather not open my eyes to myself sticking my tongue down a lion’s throat.”

“Oh.” Shiro’s embrace loosened. “Good call. We might want to get back to the cave, too.”

“Yeah.” Lance bent down to pick up the tin Shiro had dropped and got up with a smile. “But it was fun.”

“Yeah.” Shiro awkwardly reached up to rub a hand through his cropped hair. “It was... amazing. You’re a... uh, really good kisser.” He went red, and Lance hadn’t thought Shiro would be the person to be so flustered about a bit of making out, but it was really, really cute.

“Can we, maybe,” Shiro looked to the side, blushing brighter, mumbling. “Could we... Would you want to... again?” He finally squeaked. Lance came closer and dropped one last peck to Shiro’s lips. “I would love to.”

Shiro beamed and Lance stopped him quickly with a firm hand to his firmer biceps. “But!” He raised a hand in warning. “I’m not ready to put a label on this. Or anything. Not with the curse, and you quite literally being an animal most of the time, and everything.”

Shiro nodded. Lance had the feeling he would have accepted any terms Lance gave at this point.

“But we can definitely make out again.” Lance finished with a grin. Shiro smiled. “Can I hold your hand on the way back?” He asked teasingly. Lance flushed a little and pretended to consider.

“You know what?” He finally decided magnanimously, extending a hand for Shiro to take. “You may.”

 

He was sure that the others would have teased them once they appeared back at camp holding hands, and he was equally sure Shiro would blush and be quite pleased with himself, but unfortunately by the time they reached camp, the transformation was complete.

When Lance appeared back in the cave with a hand in Shiro’s mane, the others didn’t spare them so much as a glance. It was exciting in a way, the kind of secret that sent a pleasureable shiver down Lance’s back. He didn’t often have secrets. They tended to be difficult to keep when you spent all your time around spies.

He curled up against Shiro to sleep as usual, nuzzling perhaps a little closer, sighing contentedly as the others arranged themselves around him. He was asleep within minutes in his warm nest of fur and feathers.

Lance never really dreamed, at least not intensely. But this night, within seconds after he had closed his eyes, he opened them again in a dreamscape so real, so vivid that he was close to doubting the reality he was awake to.

He was in the fields of Altea again, with their swaying lush grasses and pink flowers, but the colours brighter, jewel-like in their intensity. The wind was cool and crisp, carrying the smell of fresh grass and the flowers on the air. In the distance, the snow on the mountains glittered like glass. Lance looked around in wonder, felt the soft grass under his feet. There was a distant sound like wind chimes on the air, and Lance turned and turned trying to find the source until he was dizzy. He laughed at the whooziness, spinning faster and faster and faster, the smell of the grass getting headier and headier, the sky above him spinning from day to night, stars to sun to stars again.

“Lance.” Someone said, and the world ground to a halt. Lance stopped spinning instantly as if he was a clockwork toy that had finally run out, and the world fell away until it was only him and the stars.

“Lance.” The voice said again, and Lance was standing in a throne room of glass with starlight refracting from every surface. He looked up. The throne was occupied.

He had never really understood the term _hulking,_ or at least no picture came to mind when he heard it. But this man was _hulking,_ huge and broad and heavy with his own weight and age. He sat in the throne straight-backed and firm, but it wasn’t hard to see the weight hanging over him, resting heavy on powerful shoulders. Lance stepped forward.

The man lifted his head slowly with a smile. His skin was dark, his hair and beard white. His eyes and his forehead were creased with worry, but there was youth in his blue eyes and gentleness in the quirk of his lips.

“Hello, Lance.” He rumbled gently. Lance felt the voice shudder through him, making the glass floor vibrate beneath his feet. He stepped closer as if he was being pulled.

“Who are you?” He whispered. The figure smiled serenely. “That isn’t important.” He said. “You might know in time; if not, do not worry.”

“With all due respect, spies tend not to believe in unimportant information.”

The room erupted with laughter, the figure’s voice booming, setting the glass and the stars shaking. Lance fell to his knees with a shocked gasp. The figure calmed, chest still shaking with silent chuckles. “Well, that is a very wise belief. Let us strike a deal; I will tell you, but you have to choose between knowing my name and knowing how to break the curse that lies on your friends.”

Lance stopped, staring at the figure wide-eyed. “You know how to break...?”

“Of course I do.” The figure rested his head against palm, watching Lance with eyes like blinding starlight.

“And you’re willing to tell me?” Lance couldn’t quite believe everything that was happening.

“Of course. What use is the information to me? The only thing I can do with it is share it.”

“Why would you do this? Why... why now of all times?”

“Quite simply because you are in the realm of my power.”

Lance gaped. “Altea?”

“Correct.” The figure inclined its head. “I noticed you the moment you passed its borders. Your company reeks of wrong magic. If you knew what was good for you, you would run.”

“They’re my friends.” Lance set his jaw. “I want to help them.”

“You can.” The figure fixed Lance with a glare so intense it seemed to have physical weight. “But once you hear how, you might not want to.”

“I’d do anything.” Lance said. That bright blue stare rested on him heavily. “Rashly spoken.”

“Truly spoken.” Lance insisted. “I have faced pain before, I have faced fear. I would face it again, for them.”

“That may be. But I am asking you to face something different.”

“Tell me.” Lance raised his chin stubbornly.

The figure stood. Lance barely reached to his hips. “Your challenge will be long. It might take years.”

“I have enough years to give.”

“You must start tomorrow, the moment you wake. There will be no other chance. You must leave the cave and gather nettles, as many as you can find. You must weave coats out of these nettles. No matter how they sting, you must keep weaving until you have four coats. Once you are done, you must throw them over your companions and they will find back to their human form permanently.”

That didn’t sound too bad, as long as Lance could trust what this dream man was saying.

“You must transform them all at once.” The figure continued. “Just as the time of beginning, you will have no second chance. And during the entire time, not a word may pass your lips.”

Lance’s stomach swooped with dread. “What?” He asked hoarsely. The figure leaned down and brushed a finger over Lance’s lips. They went cold at the touch.

“From the moment you wake until the moment your friends are transformed, you may not speak. Not a word.”

“Can I make a sound? Can I write?”

“Sounds, yes. Writing, no.”

Lance sank to his knees, considering. Not a word for years and years, however long it would take. No way of talking to his friends, no way of explaining. No way of telling Shiro how much he loved him.

Lance’s heart hurt. He had been a fool. He should have told Shiro of his feelings from the start, should never have tried to wait for a perfect time. He should have known. With the Blades, with danger around every corner, he had learned that the perfect time might not come.

“There is no other way?” He asked. The figure shook his head. “None.”

Lance looked up, teary-eyed. The figure had been right in saying he would have to face something he had never faced before. He could stand all the pain, all the fear in the world.

What he was asked to brave this time was loneliness. Never-ending loneliness even surrounded by his friends, his family, by _Shiro._

“I will do it.” He said, voice hoarse. The figure smiled gently, the way a father might smile down upon his child.

“I am proud of your determination... paladin.” He stood before his throne, the glass floor dissolving before him, melting into nothingness.

“How do I know I can trust you? Trust myself? That this isn’t just a dream?”

The figure reached up, unfastening the brooch that held his cloak. He kneeled to take Lance’s hand in his, and pressed the brooch into Lance’s outstretched palm. It shrank down as he passed it down, until it was in the same proportion to Lance’s hand that it had been to the giant’s.

The figure smiled gently, his cloak swirling around his shoulders, falling to the ground and further beyond, down into the endless expanse of stars below and above and all around them. The figure smiled again, eyes soft and kind as he looked Lance in the eyes.

“Be strong.” He whispered. “You will find help where you do not expect it.”

And then he vanished, and Lance was alone, falling through the floor, falling through the stars, falling, falling, falling until he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wanted the pining to last longer: I hesitated for a long time, but honestly I'm really really big on Shiro not being creepy and kissing Lance for the first time when Lance is mute and can't even protest, and I'm sure Shiro would agree with me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lance awakes, the lions are confused and everyone cries.

Lance awoke the next morning with his tongue leaden in his mouth and his hands clutching a gold-and-sapphire brooch to his chest.

Dawn was just peeking into the cave with careful, wary movements, prying apart the shadows to chance a glimpse at the inhabitants, deciding if it was worth waking from their slumber.

Lance sat up and thought.

It hadn’t been a dream, that much was certain, or at least not an ordinary dream. He fingered the brooch in his hand thoughtfully, twisting it this way and that, watching the way the early dawn light gleamed off the polished gold and set the sapphire ablaze with a blue light that seemed to come from deep inside.

The only question was, could the mysterious figure be trusted? And what choice did Lance have?

He stood up, pacing impatiently. Beside him, Keith snuffled and moved in his sleep, but otherwise the lions stayed silent. He had no way of knowing, Lance realized. No way of knowing if the dream was right until the moment he had finished the nettle coats and thrown them over the friends. He had no way of knowing until it was too late. And if he tried to ask for advice, tried to turn one of them prematurely to test the truth of the dream, he would ruin all chance of breaking the curse.

Lance turned, crouched. He stared at Shiro’s sleeping face, the twitching of his whiskers, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the ripple of his dark fur. He reached out a hand, buried it in Shiro’s mane, stroked one twitching ear. He wished he could say sorry, but that was out of the question. Sorry, he wanted to say, that I have to do this without explanation. Sorry that I never told you I loved you. Sorry that I maybe never will.

He stood, watching the way the dawn light traced across Shiro’s face until the lion grunted in its sleep and twitched a wing to shade it’s face.

Then Lance turned on his heel and left.

He was gone for an entire day. He strolled through the forests in peace and quiet broken only by birdsong, seeking out patches of nettles as he went further and further, cutting the stems with his knife as he braved the sting to hold the plant steady. He gathered them in a bundle resting over his back, growing steadily throughout the day. He rested by a spring at midday, but before long he was once again wandering the forest seeking out the stinging plants.

His palms burned, red and blistered already. If he touched a nettle or anything else hardly mattered now; it was all the same sensation of hot, fiery pain. Lance bit his lip and kept going.

He hardly noticed time passing until suddenly the sun was setting in showers of gold and dark red and darkness was creeping up beneath the trees. At this point, he had gathered enough nettles for the weight to bow his back , weighed down even further by a second bundle in his arms. Still not satisfied but without a choice, Lance turned back towards the cave.

He approached as darkness finally fell, covering Altea in a dark, soft gauze broken by the pinpricks of the first stars. Just ahead, the lions were pacing in front of the cave, dark and solid in the dusk. Lance left the shelter of the trees, coming into view of the lions. A sharp growl was all the warning Lance received before he was being bowled over by Shiro, paws large enough to cover his entire belly pressing him to the ground as Shiro growled.

Lance had already opened his mouth to apologize before snapping it shut, remembering suddenly what was at stake. Instead he reached up to bury his hands in Shiro’s dark mane, dragging that large head down so he could press his forehead to Shiro’s. I’m okay, he tried to say, his hands burning where he grasped Shiro’s mane. I’m okay.

Shiro nuzzled against him in gentle concern, letting Lance wrap his arms around his neck. Lance hid his face in his mane and stayed silent.

Shiro pulled back with a confused growl, and Lance was suddenly met with four feline looks of concern. He smiled wanly, hoping he looked more alright than he felt, and tried his best to hide his red hands. The lions didn’t even seem to care for the way he was gripping his thighs, palms hidden even as the pain flared brighter. Instead, Shiro questioningly pawed at the bundle of nettles that had fallen from Lance’s arms, hissing and pulling back with an accusing glance that made Lance laugh. Shiro’s face melted to confusion, and Lance just gave him another smile, shook his head and picked up the bundle of nettles, ignoring the pain and the uneasy growls of the lions. He set his chin and marched resolutely into the cave.

He spent the rest of that night processing the nettles. Wordlessly he gathered wood and lit the fire, ignoring Keith and Shiro hovering nervously around him. He stripped the leaves off the nettles, no matter how Hunk would growl and try to bat his hands away. It was impossible to hide his red, blistered and bleeding hands now, and the lions stared. Shiro butted closer to try to lick at them, but Lance yelled in pain at the rough texture of his tongue. Shiro flinched, immediately leaping forward to butt his head against Lance’s chest in apology. Lance scratched between his ears. It’s alright, he wanted to say.

Once a batch of nettles had been stripped of leaves, Lance separated the fibres, hanging them to dry out before starting on the next batch. Keith was pacing in front of the cave, and Pidge had probably left to hunt, but Hunk and Shiro still hovered nervously, ears pricked and bodies tense. Lance scratched behind their ears every now and then, trying to convey that he was alright, but they just seemed to grow more concerned by the minute.

Lance hardly even noticed the transformation, too engrossed in his work, but suddenly human hands were softly gripping his wrists, forcing him still, and he looked up into Shiro’s eyes, into a face taught with concern.

“Lance.” Shiro’s voice was rough with disuse, quiet. “What are you doing?”

Lance just shook his head, a small pang tearing through him as Shiro’s face fell. “Lance,” Shiro insisted, “you’re hurting yourself.”

Lance looked down at his hands, sore and red, blood streaking the nettle fibers in streaks of rusty red. He looked up at Shiro and shook his head.

Shiro’s fingers tightened around his wrists. Hunk and Keith had approached in the meantime, appearing behind Shiro like worried ghosts.

“Lance.” Shiro was clearly fighting to keep his voice steady. “Please talk to me.”

Lance felt another pang through him. He wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around Shiro and kiss him, tell him it was alright, it was all going to turn out just fine. Tell Shiro that he was doing this for him.

He shook his head slowly, hoping Shiro could see just how much it pained him to do so.

“Can you still understand us?” Keith asked, pushing forward frantically. Lance hesitated. Maybe it would be easier to let them believe... absolute devastation crossed across Shiro’s face, tightening around his eyes and Lance felt tears spring up. He nodded frantically, dropping the nettle fibres in his hand to cup Shiro’s face in his hand.

He nodded again like some ridiculous bobblehead, gripping Shiro’s face so he could look in his eyes. Shiro went soft in relief, reaching out to gently put his hand on top of Lance’s.

“Did you lose your voice?” He asked. Lance bit his lip, shook his head.

“So you just aren’t speaking?” Hunk cut in. Lance looked over and nodded, face apologetic.

“Why?” Keith demanded instantly, frowning. His concern had melted to hot anger. Lance had always teased that confusion was an emotion not known to Keith with how fast it was replaced by anger. Now that anger was directed fully at him, and Lance withered under it.

He shrugged.

Keith glared at him. “Can you not see how stupid this is?” He snarled. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but it’s stupid. Just talk to us like a normal person.”

Lance shook his head stubbornly. Keith’s glare turned to freezing anger. “Talk to us, damnit!” Keith yelled. Lance didn’t even flinch, calmly staring Keith in the eye. Shiro reached out, pushing Keith back.

“Keith, that’s enough.” He said firmly. “Lance will have his reasons.” He shot a quick glance at Lance, as if he was begging Lance to agree, as if he was hoping with all his might that he really did have his reasons. His jaw was streaked with pale red where Lance’s bleeding hands had touched him, and still Lance wanted to reach out again, to comfort him, touch him, kiss him.

Soon, Lance promised himself. Soon.

 

Shiro didn’t leave his side for the rest of the night. He kept up steady, low chatter, filling Lance’s space with noise that Lance was grateful for. It distracted him from the pain.

Keith was still stewing, pacing the cave floor, scowling and muttering to Hunk occasionally. At one point he turned to Shiro in his frustration. “Stop talking.” He snarled. “Lance has made his decision, stop trying to change that.”

“Lance would let me know if my talking was annoying him.” Shiro replied calmly. Lance looked up to nod before turning back to his work. Keith’s scowl deepened and he kicked a piece of coal into the fire.

“Lance,” Shiro asked at one point, “can I bandage your hands?”

Lance nodded. He would be glad to get rid of some of the stinging. Hunk passed Shiro some salve and he took Lance’s hand gently. Lance sucked in a breath at the gentle touch, the way Shiro’s fingers touched so light over his knuckles they seemed to flutter. His heart stuttered in his chest. Shiro rubbed the salve into his skin in little circles. It was blessedly cool against his burning hands, and Lance felt all the tension leave him as Shiro gently turned his hands this way and that to properly bandage them.

Unfortunately, it only took Lance a second to realize that with his hands bandaged up, he couldn’t continue his work. He tugged at the bandages insistently, but instantly Shiro’s hands were resting on his. Lance looked up slowly, into Shiro’s warm grey eyes.

“Lance.” Shiro said softly. “I understand that this is important to you, but please rest.”

Lance shook his head, eyes wide and pleading. Shiro’s grip simply tightened. “You haven’t slept, you’ve hardly eaten. I can respect your decision, whatever decision it is and whatever your reasons are, but I won’t let you break yourself. Rest.”

Lance melted. He hadn’t even noticed how tired he was until Shiro had pointed it out. And Shiro’s concern... it made him feel warm and drowsy, although perhaps that was just his tingling hands, the pain flaring in bright waves of warmth through his entire body.

Lance slept, leaning against Shiro, his hands still clenched tight around the nettle fibers and his heart heavy. He awoke only once that night to curl deeper into Shiro’s slumbering lion form before falling back into an exhausted slumber.

The next morning he stripped off the bandages and continued his work. Shiro stayed by his side from the moment he first woke, unmoving except when he tried to urge Lance to eat. Pidge stayed behind as well, worry clear in her amber eyes, and Keith just snarled at him, exposing, large, cruel yellow canines, before he and Hunk left the cave.

Lance worked on and on, tirelessly, stripping the leaves, separating the fibers and hanging them to dry. Once the first bundles had dried he twisted them to smooth threads before putting them aside to continue his work stripping the nettle fibres from the stems.

Still, Shiro stayed.

Lance worked from dawn til dusk, and when he ran out of nettles he curled into Shiro’s side wordlessly and slept.

He awoke to quiet murmuring. Shiro’s hand was in his hair, letting the soft strands run through his fingers. His head was bedded on Shiro’s broad thigh, and Lance felt himself flush at the feeling of the muscles shifting just underneath his cheek. But before he could get too embarrassed at it, he realized that the murmuring was the others quietly talking, and that the topic was him.

“So he won’t talk at all?” Hunk asked lowly. Shiro’s hand stilled in his hair for just a second before resuming. “Not a word. Not a sound.” He said, sounding wrecked with worry. Lance clenched his eyes shut and hoped he hadn’t gone tense.

“Does anyone have any idea why?” That was Pidge’s voice. There was dead silence, presumably as everyone shook their heads. Keith spoke next. “It worries me.” He said. “What if he was cursed as well? The witch’s reach could extend to here. Maybe she finally noticed he’s helping us.”

“Or it wasn’t the witch we know.” Hunk added, sounding as if he was forcing himself not to puke. “Didn’t we all say Altea was a place with a high concentration of magic? We don’t know what he ran into out there...”

“Either way, it’s our fault.” Keith said, voice forced out dripping in the guilt it had to push through.

“We can’t think that way.” Shiro said firmly, but his voice held just as much guilt as Keith’s did. “Lance keeps trying to communicate that he’s fine, and except for his strange obsession and the pain he’s putting upon himself, he doesn’t seem unhappy or scared.”

“What could make him put up with that pain?” Pidge shook her head. “It makes no sense.”

Shiro shrugged and sighed so heavily Lance could feel it from where he was resting on his thigh.

“I don’t know.” He said softly. “I just don’t know.”

Lance closed his eyes to will back tears and tried his best to go back to sleep.

 

Over time, it settled into normalcy. Lance was silent, the lions were silent, and days passed with nothing but the chirp of birdsong and the bubbling of the spring. Lance would hunt and cook and go for long walks, and whenever he could, he would work, steadily preparing the fibers, weaving the coats and picking new nettles.

His friends never understood why he did it, but Shiro stayed by his side, filling what hours of the night that he could with steady, low chatter. Lance showed his appreciation any way he could, cuddling up to Shiro as he worked, smiling and laughing but remaining otherwise silent.

It calmed the others, those signs that he was still himself. Sometimes, Lance and Shiro would take their leave once the lions found to their human form, sitting on the cliff outside of the cave alone while Shiro talked of his family and Lance listened with rapt attention. Shiro would ask questions, and Lance would shake or nod his head, and those conversations were filled with both laughter and confusion, but Shiro never stopped trying.

He never gave up on him.

 

Keith dealt with Lance’s continued silence less favourably. Confusion and concern were constantly warring in him, and his worry turned to anger at the tip of a hat. He would beg Lance to speak and storm out in a fit of rage, and as much as Shiro tried to calm him, be the steady, loving presence he had always been, it seemed like this was anger he couldn’t draw out of Keith.

“Lance.” Keith would beg. “Please talk to me.”

Lance shook his head, focussed on his work.

“I just want to know why you’re doing this.” Keith urged, taking one of Lance’s swollen, reddened hand. The skin was calloused, the redness and soreness fading with every day, his hands growing rough and cracked with the constant abuse. Lance looked Keith in the eye and pulled his hand away, shaking his head again.

“Can’t you see it’s hurting us too?” Keith asked hoarsely. Lance hesitated. He saw it. He saw it when they thought he didn’t, when they thought he was looking away, when they thought he had sunk in concentration. He saw the pain in the lines of Shiro’s eyes, he saw the fear in Pidge’s face, he saw the way Hunk’s brow drew together. Lance nodded.

“Don’t you care?” Keith asked, louder. From the other side of the cave, Shiro looked up. “Keith.” He warned tersely. Lance hesitated once again. Would it be easier to tell the truth or to lie? Either answer would not be the one Keith wanted to hear. Lance looked away.

Keith went white with fury, fists clenching. “Lance, this is stupid.” He insisted. “What are you trying to prove? Just talk, and forget these stupid...” He grabbed the fibres out of Lance’s lap and threw them in the general direction of the fire.

Lance let out a wordless yell, leaping forward, but it was too late. An hour of work burned merrily in the fire, going up in a cloud of heavy, damp smoke.

Lance turned on Keith, rage settling hot in his limbs. He snarled, leaping to bowl Keith over. He gripped the front of Keith’s tunic, knuckles white with rage. Keith’s eyes were dazed, the purple swimming with a dizzy pain, but there was just a hint of satisfaction in the twitch of his lips.

“There we go.” Keith said hoarsely. “I finally got a reaction out of you.”

Lance snarled, fingers tightening in Keith’s tunic, eyes wet with tears.

“Come on!” Keith urged. “Shout at me! Curse me! Anything!” He shouted wildly, eyes flashing Galra yellow. Lance gritted his teeth and said nothing, let go of Keith’s shirt, clambered off his form.

Keith started to cry, lying on his back on the ground, tears running down his cheeks. Immediately, Shiro was at his side, pulling him up, pulling him close, looking at Lance without accusation, just apology.

“Say something.” Keith begged. “Say something!”

Lance stared, feeling his own tears burn at his eyelids, and left without a word.

 

Later, Shiro found him at the top of their usual cliff, huddled up under the cloak that used to be Shiro’s and now smelled only of Lance. Lance was hugging his knees, eyes empty and blank as he stared out at the shimmering nightly beauty of the Altean forest.

Shiro sat beside him.

“Keith calmed down.” He said lowly, watching Lance for any sign that the other wanted him to leave. Lance just nodded. Shiro sighed and shifted, settling more comfortably into the grass.

“Keith didn’t mean all that.” He said lowly. “He’s just worried. We all are.”

Lance nodded, eyes burning. He didn’t want to cause any of this pain, but there was nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice for their freedom.

Nothing, he reminded himself.

Shiro looked at him as if he could see into the deepest shadows of Lance’s mind, as if he could trace the thoughts as they sprang around in his head. “It’s alright, Lance.” He said, as if he had seen those thoughts and seen what Lance needed him to say. “I trust you.”

Lance curled into Shiro as Shiro’s arms came up around him. “I trust you.” Shiro repeated, whispering it softly into Lance’s hair, his breath warm against Lance’s head, his words soft in his ears. With Shiro’s arms around him and Shiro’s lips against his hair, Lance finally let himself cry. He cried until Shiro had transformed and then he cried even longer and finally fell asleep curled against the lion’s form.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Thank you guys for your outpouring of love and support for this dumb story I like telling <3 You're all amazing.
> 
> On another note, would you prefer these longer, yet sporadic updates I'm doing or would you prefer quicker, yet shorter updates?

“Lance?” Shiro asked. Lance looked up from his work. He was out of nettles was instead busy knotting the yarn together and weaving it into one of the coats. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Lance looked up, smiling. Shiro was nervous standing there, one hand rubbing the back of his neck shyly. There was a blush high on his cheeks, dark in the bright silvery moonlight. Lance gathered up his work and a bundle of nettle yarn and stood, nodding. Shiro smiled, shyly, brightly, like the moon coming out from behind a cloud. Lance stretched out a hand. Shiro’s breath caught. His eyes were shining, a spark of curiosity and nervousness shimmering and dancing around the iris.

He took Lance’s hand, their fingers brushing electric, the hold warm and tight. Lance smiled again, looking down at their joined hands, away from Shiro and his lovely boyish blush, and led him out of the cave.

They made their way to one of their usual haunts, a pile of boulders high up above the cave, where they could see the gently shimmering and rustling forest, admire the way the moonlight glanced off the ocean in the distance, sit in silence and talk about everything or about nothing.

Lance settled down, settling down his coat on the cold rock and taking up his work again as Shiro settled beside him. Lance couldn’t help but lean against him, his presence as solid as the rock beneath. Shiro hesitated, obviously slightly short of breath as he gently reached out to put an arm around Lance. Lance leaned into it happily. It was calming, soothing in a way nothing else could be. It was a spark of warmth in a world of silence and constant burning pain.

“Lance?” Shiro asked. Lance hummed noncommittally.

“Do you, uh...” Lance looked up at the tone of Shiro’s voice, shy and shaking. Shiro was looking anywhere but him, red to his ears. “Do you remember the, uh... the kiss?”

Lance had to laugh. Shiro looked at him in embarrassed surprise. “What’s so funny?” He asked. _You,_ Lance wanted to say. _You’re like a teenager with his first crush._ Instead he just shook his head.

“Well, at the beginning I thought your muteness might, uh... have something to do with that? With me?” Shiro sounded so fragile that Lance wanted to kiss him, gather that big, stupid man into his arms and kiss him silly. Instead, he grabbed Shiro’s hand in his and shook his head furiously.

“I know!” Shiro said quickly. “I know now that it’s nothing to do with me, that you still  li... that you don’t hate me.” Lance nodded. _I like you. I like you so much._

“I was just, uh... wondering. And I didn’t want to ask while you were mute because it might be weird.” Shiro was flushing again. Lance reached out, winced as the heated, sore skin of his hands brushed Shiro’s chiselled cheekbones. “Well, I didn’t want to make a move while you were mute,” Shiro continued. “But it appears it might be a while. So, Lance...” He looked down carefully at their joined hands and looked up with a small smile. “Do you regret our kiss?”

Lance shook his head with a soft smile.

“Did you like it?” Shiro came slightly closer, leaning his forehead against Lance’s. Lance huffed a small laugh and nodded.

“Can I kiss you again?” Shiro asked, so softly Lance might not have heard if they weren’t so close, faces hardly an inch apart. Lance’s breath stuttered in his chest. Shiro was close, and warm, and still as beautiful and gentle as ever.

Lance smiled.

He nodded.

 

Lance had never before felt his lack of speech this acutely, this painfully, and for the first time it truly struck him that this was a punishment.

For the first while, when the others wanted to know something, he could convey it with a complicated web of charades and elaborate yes or no questions, and that was enough for him. Even the things the others couldn’t figure out, like why he was doing what he was doing, didn’t seem all that important to Lance. As much as he usually talked, Lance was quick to find out he didn’t have much to say.

But now he did.

He had so much to say that it hurt not to say it. _I want to hold you,_ he wanted to tell Shiro when he was pulled aside and asked for a kiss. _I think I love you,_ he wanted to say as their lips met. _I want to be with you,_ he wanted to promise as they broke apart.

He could do nothing but stay silent. He couldn’t pull Shiro to him and say all he wanted to say, couldn’t ask to kiss him whenever he wanted and didn’t dare without asking. He couldn’t push Shiro to ask the right questions, couldn’t tell Shiro to ask “do you love me?” He couldn’t lay his heart out for Shiro with the name _Takashi_ slipping off his lips like a promise that he would stay.

It drove Lance mad, and he worried. After all, how could Shiro not get bored with him? Lance was barely interesting enough even when he was talking. There was a reason he was loud, and now that he was silenced he felt stripped, defenceless.

In retrospect, he should have trusted that it was driving Shiro just as mad, and he should have trusted that someone like Shiro would have a solution.

“I have an idea.” Shiro whispered one evening, curled up against Lance, head in the crook of his shoulder and watching Lance’s clever fingers knitting the nettle strands.

He no longer bled, at least no most of the time, and the stinging pain didn’t affect him as it used to. His hands were callused, rough and permanently red, but no longer burning and tender, no longer springing up in irritated patches that burst and bled and stained the nettle fabric a dark red.

Lance hummed encouragingly, not stopping his movements but tipping his shoulder slightly to encourage Shiro to look up.

Shiro looked in his eyes for the briefest of moments, his gaze swimming with warm, tentative hope. He looked away, seemingly unable to bear possible disappointment that would follow, unable to hold Lance’s steady blue gaze.

“I was just thinking...” Shiro breathed in deeply. “Well, it’s going to be complicated. It’s going to take a while, but I figure time is something we have now. But I could... I thought I could teach you...” He broke off, buried his face in Lance’s neck, lips brushing his collarbone. Lance shivered. He still hadn’t been able to tell Shiro he loved him, and every day he loved him more. Shiro, however, seemed to be remembering only what Lance had said so long ago, about all of this being only kissing, and seemed scared to change anything about it.

But if he had a solution... Lance put down his work and cupped Shiro’s beautiful, sweet face in his hands. He pressed his lips to Shiro’s forehead and leaned back, trying to convey all his love and all his patience. _Tell me._ He begged.

“My mother...” Shiro hesitated. “I barely remember her, I joined the Blade so young, but she couldn’t hear. I remember that. And we had our own language, just with our hands, just symbols.” Shiro took a deep breath. “I could teach you. If you want. If you aren’t working too hard.” Shiro’s eyes were pleadingly wide for a moment before he buried his face in Lance’s neck again. “I’m sorry. I know it’s a lot of work, and I know you already have a lot on your plate, and I don’t even know if you want to communicate with us and...”

Lance shut him up with the gentlest of kisses to his cheek. Shiro stilled, froze, waiting. Lance considered.

Would it be cheating? Would it destroy all his work, destine all his years of toil to uselessness? And could he risk it? Lance looked down at his work. Half done already. How long had it been? Months, at least. He could no longer keep count. The days bled into each other.

Lance thought about the possibility, thought about finishing his work, throwing the coats over his friends, thought of them settling gently yet ineffectually. Thought of his friends looking up at him curiously, wondering if he had finally lost his mind. He thought of breaking his silence after years of wasted work, thought of how it would feel to speak again knowing that he could have spoken so much earlier, thought of his life and his work and his pain wasted, thought of Shiro as a lion forever, thought of a future lost.

Shiro looked up at him as if he held the moon in his hands, ready to hang it in the sky or shatter it into a thousand pieces. Lance hesitated, breathless for a second with the weight of the decision. Shiro watched him like a hopeful child.

Lance shook his head and let the moon shatter.

He could see the moment the shards struck Shiro, sunk into his heart, blinded him and wounded him and scarred him. Shiro, who had placed his entire world and all his hopes in Lance’s hand and who now had to watch Lance drop them all to break into a million pieces on the rock.

A shadow passed over Shiro’s face, hurt digging deep grooves. He stared down at his hands as if he were burying his hope, burying it deep and filling up the grave, weighing the coffin down with a rock so it couldn’t come back to haunt him ever again.

Lance could do nothing but mouth a helpless apology that Shiro didn’t even see as he turned his head, stood up, and left Lance sitting high above the Altean forest on his own.

 

For the first time, Lance truly understood the trial he was going through, truly understood the loneliness that had been put upon him.

Shiro was avoiding him, and without the constant warmth of his company, without the low, thoughtful yet constant chatter, without the his questions and his stories, Lance felt empty, afloat in a field of icy cold, with his friends as distant from him as the faraway night sky.

Hunk sat with him when Shiro wouldn’t, but it wasn’t the same. Hunk babbled and fumbled, trying to talk to him as Shiro had, but floundering more and more the longer Lance’s silence went on. With time, Hunk’s conversation trailed off, discouraged by the lack of response.

Lance wanted nothing more than to apologize, but he couldn’t even call out to Shiro, couldn’t even tell the others to pass on a message, much less talk to Shiro himself. So Lance kept knitting furiously, the coat progressing at a faster and faster speed. Once he was done, he knew, he could apologize, could tell Shiro he loved him. And so he knitted with single-minded intensity, forgetting to eat, forgetting to sleep, knitted until his hands went numb.

He knitted until only a few days later, he reached for the next ball of yarn and came up empty. There was no yarn left of his stash, no nettle fibres hanging to dry, and no fresh bunch of nettles waiting to be processed. Lance almost cursed out loud but bit his tongue. Now, wouldn’t that be a way to fail this trial?

Wordlessly, Lance gathered up his things to go out and gather some fresh nettles. In one corner, Keith lifted his huge head, staring at Lance with something almost like contemplation before getting up with a leisurely stretch. Next to him, Shiro watched with bright yellow eyes as Keith padded past Lance out of the cave, and didn’t look away when Lance followed him out.

He and Keith walked for half a day, circling through the forest again and again but coming up empty. They would fly further and further out, but had to keep mainly to walking, impossible as it was to see nettles from the sky, and still, there was nothing. They had to return at sunset with barely a handful of nettles in Lance’s arms. He could have cried. If he didn’t have nettles, how could he hope to break the curse?

Lance worked that night and the next day on turning the nettles that he had into fibres, but the work took only a matter of hours.

“I’m sorry.” Keith said once he was in human form, and Lance gave him a wan smile. _It’s not your fault._

Once the fibres were drying, Lance curled up next to the fire and slept fitfully, finally crashing after days of hardly resting, too focused on his work. He awoke in the night, feeling miserable and exhausted, and did nothing but sit and stare in the fire as Hunk curled around him with worried chirps.

He vaguely noticed when they turned human, Hunk’s warmth at his back shrinking, yellow feathers alighting around him in a gentle storm, some catching fire as they floated down onto red-hot coals.

Hunk had left at one point, and suddenly Shiro was there, sitting down next to him quietly. He was nervous and gentle, walking on eggshells, hardly daring to breath as Lance looked up.

“Hey.” Shiro said softly. Lance managed a small smile. Shiro looked down, into the fire. Lance vaguely realized that they were alone in the cave.

“I’m sorry.” Shiro whispered, sounding small and vulnerable. “I was wrong to take my hurt out on you like I did.”

Lance’s smile went soft around the edges as he reached out to rest his hand on Shiro’s, entwining their fingers. _It’s alright._ He mouthed. _I understand._

“I was... I acted like it was your fault to reject my idea.” Shiro admitted softly. “And I should know it isn’t. I knew when I proposed it that you might say no, but I let my hurt get the better of me, and I treated you like it was your fault. And I’m sorry for that.” Shiro took a deep breath. “I lo-... I like you, Lance. And it hurts that you won’t... that you cannot talk to me, but I can’t be hurtful to you because of it. I know you have a good reason.”

Lance nodded earnestly.

“I trust that I will know it with time.” Shiro continued. He leaned in closer to rest his forehead against Lance’s. “I trust you.” He breathed against his lips, so so softly. Lance couldn’t help but lean forward, brushing their lips together with all the gentleness of the words Shiro was uttering. Shiro’s breath stuttered ass he met the kiss.

“I have something for you.” Shiro admitted as they broke the kiss. “I saw you ran out of nettles and... well, I thought having another pair of eyes and hands couldn’t hurt your search.”

Lance could have cried when he saw the heap Shiro had piled up near the cave entrance, enough to last for weeks, maybe months. Enough to finish the first coat. He could have cried, but instead he threw his arms around Shiro and kissed him long and hard, again and again, smiling against his lips.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do.” Shiro said earnestly once they parted, with Lance sat in his lap and their arms still around each other. “But I will be here for you however long you need me.”

 

“Lance?” Shiro murmured one evening as they sat curled up in each other’s arms, Lance busy with the last touches of the first coat as Shiro watched over his shoulder. Shiro’s breath fanned over Lance’s shoulder, lips brushing the juncture of his neck gently and making Lance shudder.

Lance hummed questioningly, and Shiro pressed closer, hands winding around Lance’s slim waist.

“I know you don’t want to learn the signs I used with my mother, but...” Shiro hesitated. “Can I still teach them to you? In case you change your mind or in case you’re in danger. I want to be able to communicate if we really need to.”

Lance hesitated, thinking.

“You don’t have to!” Shiro continued hastily. “And if you don’t want to, I won’t get hurt again. Just... just in case.” He finished softly. There was the slightest hesitant twinge of fear in his voice. Lance mulled it over. There was no risk in learning it, right?

Lance leaned over to look at Shiro fully and nodded. Shiro stared in awe and in joy, excitement lighting up his features and giving him a boyish softness. Lance smiled brightly as Shiro pulled him close with a light and happy laugh, drawing back to plant a kiss on his lips.

Lance smiled against Shiro’s lips as he kissed back, warm shivers running up his spine, his work forgotten. Shiro held him tight, shifting to pull Lance firmly in his lap and Lance responded happily, pressing closer and closer until he thought he could feel Shiro’s heartbeat against his own.

Shiro pulled away just a bit, staring at Lance in wonder, the same awestruck glimmer in his eye that he got when he was looking at the stars.

“I love you.” Shiro whispered, and then, as if realizing what he had just said, hid his face in Lance’s chest. Lance could see his ears going red and he laughed, reaching up to play with the cropped hair at the base of Shiro’s neck with long, slender fingers. He leaned down slightly to kiss the back of Shiro’s head, encouraging him. _I love you too,_ he wanted to say. _I love you so much._

Finally, Shiro looked up, his cheeks still stained delightfully pink. Lance brushed his fingers over Shiro’s cheeks with a soft smile and leaned in to brush their lips together. “I love you.” Shiro whispered against him again, even softer than before, a sound so gentle it brought tears to Lance’s eyes.

 _I love you too,_ Lance wanted to say, but he couldn’t, so he just kissed Shiro again and again until there was nothing left to convey. Lance reached up to touch Shiro again, tracing the bow of his lips, the line of his eyebrows, the slope of his nose.

The curse couldn’t break soon enough.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter good intentions and a soft-hearted princess.  
> A straightforward and happy conclusion, exit stage right.

Lance kept weaving and knitting and working. He kept silent, and so did the lions, and slowly, Lance began finding a kind of peace in it. Even Keith was slowly accepting Lance’s worrying silence. Shiro’s presence was still a constant reassurance, even as he lapsed into silence more and more often.

Lance’s silence was affecting everyone, and sometimes, entire days would pass without a sound. Lance found that he didn’t mind. His friends’ presence, Shiro’s warmth at his side, the lions’ affectionate nuzzling, it all meant more than words.

They were happy times, with the cave becoming more liveable by the day. Work made the silence more tolerable, the feeling that he had a purpose, a mission. He dared say that he was happy.

He and Shiro did their best to keep their relationship under wraps- neither had the energy, the will, or in Lance’s case even the ability to explain. But with everyone living in the same place, there was only so long they could keep it a secret.

One night, Keith interrupted their kissing with an unimpressed “ew”. Lance and Shiro jumped apart as Keith laughed and promised a blushing Shiro he wouldn’t tell. Only days later, Hunk walked in on them making out with Shiro’s hand up Lance’s tunic and let out a scream as he covered his eyes, and nothing could keep Hunk quiet, so Pidge knew only moments later. And so, suddenly everyone knew. Shiro and Lance didn’t mind. Hunk was a little concerned and asked Lance how he felt about being mute in a relationship, to which Lance wished he could reply _not a relationship,_ but instead he just shrugged and answered Hunk’s probing questions until he was satisfied Shiro wasn’t taking advantage of Lance.

The lions tended to feel cooped up in the cave and so Lance spent his days mostly alone or with a lone companion who stayed behind when the others left. It was one of those days he was alone in the cave that Lance suddenly heard the far-off sound of humans.

None of them had thought humans would be a problem. None of them had even known how far the next town was. They had never seen people in the forest and assumed they never would, but the sounds drifting into the cave were unmistakeable. It was a royal hunt, complete with shouts and barks, the bellowing of horns and bugles, excited yelling. Lance looked up from his work. Would they hunt lions if they saw them? Almost certainly- if not prey, a lion was a trophy, particularly a fantastically coloured winged one. If not for a trophy, they would be killed out of fear. Something as fantastic as an enormous winged lions inspired fear by sheer virtue of its existence.

Lance considered going out, trying to find the others, but what could he do if he found them? He could still remember what had happened with the villagers, the fear in their eyes, the hatred as they realized whose side he was on. If they had any sense, his friends would hide.

Lance could do nothing but crawl into the corner and pray that they weren’t found.

It never occurred to him to worry for his own safety.

He distracted himself with work, fighting away thoughts of Shiro, Keith, Pidge or Hunk scared and cowering, humans standing over them with bows and spears. He fought off images of Shiro tearing into someone’s throat in self defence, fighting cornered and desperate, teeth bloody and flanks dripping with sweat and blood until he was surrounded, until he went down, until he twitched one last time and was still.

Lance worked with new desperation, fingers bloodying in moments at his clumsy desperation. He sunk into his work and his panic, thoughts chasing each other around his skull in frenzied circles as if desperate to gain their freedom.

Lance hardly even noticed the sounds getting closer, the shouts and calls and the blowing of horns melting into a single deafening cacophony of trepidation. He curled in on himself, shielding his ears from the sounds, hands working, trembling, bleeding.

He looked up at a yapping sound that was far too close, a sharp bark that broke his concentration like a stone into a calm pond, racing to the bottom like the horror down Lance’s spine. He looked up with bated breath, only now noticing the sounds of the hunt just beyond the cave. He could hear the splashing of water and the yelping of hounds. Presumably just a water break. He breathed out. They hadn’t noticed anything. They would be gone in a short while and he would be safe.

There was a snuffling just beyond where Lance was crouched behind the hanging vines shielding the caves entrance. Lance hardly dared move, hardly breathed, but it didn’t matter. A small, pointed nose poked through the leaves, and a second later, there was a small, overweight hunting dog at Lance’s feet, panting up at him curiously. Lance stared at the dog. The dog stared back.

 _Hush,_ Lance prayed, reaching out a trembling hand, _please._

The dog stared up at his hand reaching out with curiosity in its dim eyes. Lance’s heart was racing. _Hush,_ he pleaded, _hush._

The dog barked, and Lance’s heart fell like a stone, like a door slamming shut, like an entire castle thundering to the ground at once. He tried to reach out, to hold the dog back, but it was gone through the curtains of vines, and now Lance could hear voices.

“He’s found something!” A female voice called. “What is it, boy?”

Lance scrambled to the back of the cave, into the shadows, pulled his knife and prayed. He couldn’t hurt anyone. He couldn’t. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to.

The vines twitched. “There’s a cave!” Someone shouted, deep and gruff.

“Stay here, Princess. We don’t know what’s in there.”

The vine curtain twitched again and parted, letting in a brilliant ray of light into the dimness and a figure silhouetted against it, pushing the vines aside with a sword. Lance held his breath and tried to blend in with the rock wall.

The figure moved into the gloom, circling the cave warily, poking and prodding at the piles of blankets, the cold ashes of the fireplace, the folded nettle coat.

“Someone’s living here!” He called out. “But they aren’t...” He trailed off.

Lance couldn’t breathe. He felt as if his limbs were made of ice, his breathing rattling like a rusty chain being pulled from his chest.

“Lotor?” The woman’s voice came back, closer, full of concern.

“Stay back!” The man shouted. “And someone get me some light!”

The vines were pushed aside once again, light falling into the cave like day realizing it had missed a spot and rushing to fill in the blanks.

“There’s someone here.” Lotor said, still to the people outside, but so hushed Lance doubted they had heard it. His eyes were fixed on Lance, and the gleaming knife in Lance’s hand.

The man raised his sword haughtily.

“Drop your weapon.” He commanded lazily. Lance glared. He was a Blade of Marmora. He could kill this man in the time it took him to raise his sword, and could defeat him with a breadknife and his wits. But how many people were outside? How many dogs?

Lance glared, raised his hands and dropped his weapon.

“Who are you?” The man questioned. Lance remained silent, glaring darkly. The man glared right back. “I will not ask again.” He said coldly. Lance raised his chin in defiance, standing from his crouched position against the wall.

“Lotor?” Came the female voice again. “I’m coming in.”

The curtain parted further, and a woman stepped through, tall and gleaming in her armour, a crossbow in her arms. Lotor stretched out a hand to hold her back in warning. “He won’t tell us our name.” He cautioned. “He might be dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” The woman stared at Lance, defiant and cornered. “He’s terrified! Put down your sword.”

“He had a knife when I walked in.” Lotor raised his sword higher, aiming the point at Lance’s throat. Lance raised his chin proudly.

“And he doesn’t have it anymore.” The woman chided. “Put down your sword.”

He hesitated for just a moment before he lowered his sword, but he didn’t sheathe it. The woman stepped forward. “Hello.” She said softly, like one might speak with a spooked animal. “I am Princess Allura.” She reached out a hand to brush against Lance’s, soft and gentle. “I won’t harm you.”

Lance relaxed slightly in her hold. She squeezed his hands as she felt the tension loosen. “That’s better.” She said, just as softly. “What’s your name?”

Lance shook his head. She looked at him, and in the gloom he thought she might have been upset. “Won’t you tell me?” She asked. Lotor made a disapproving sound behind her. “He’s mute.” He said scathingly. “You won’t get anything out of him. We should leave.”

“No!” Allura turned to him fiercely. “He’s alone here in the woods! We’re taking him back to the palace.”

Lance blanched. Taking him...? No! He pulled at Allura’s hands frantically, trying to fight free, but her deceptively gentle grip was like iron.

“Don’t worry.” She said to him, completely misinterpreting his panic. “You won’t be hurt.”

Lance didn’t cease his struggling, but her grip was impossible to break. “Won’t you come with us?” She asked. “Come. You’ll be safe.”

Lance shook his head.

“I can’t leave you in the forest.” Her voice became firmer. “I will ask Lotor to bring you by force if necessary.”

Lance stilled. If he cooperated, perhaps he could still flee. But if he was captured, there was no hope. Allura let him go and smiled at him. “There we go.” She said. “Gather what things you need, but once in the palace, you will want for nothing.”

Lance hesitated. His things would weigh him down. But there were some things he couldn’t risk losing...

After some hesitation he gathered his balls of yarn and his incomplete work in a satchel, with Lotor’s careful eyes on him at all times. The princess stood by the vine curtain, holding it open patiently, and finally, Lance stepped out to follow her.

She turned to him, and his breath caught. She was the spitting image of the man in his dreams, tall and strong, her skin dark and her hair a white so brilliant is seemed to give off its own light, with eyes the same glowing blue of the brooch Lance had been given. She smiled at him. “Come.” She said softly. Behind Lance, Lotor left the cave. He had the same white hair, if a less brilliant shade, and skin lighter than hers. His hand closed on Lance’s upper arm, almost tight enough to hurt. “You can ride with me.” He said firmly. Lance smirked. If he had to throw this bastard off a horse to make his escape, even better.

“Alteans!” Allura called to a small group of knights and nobility gathered by the spring. “We are cutting this hunt short. Let us return home.”

Eager, curious whispers filled the air and Lance wilted under the curious gazes of noblemen, edging subconsciously behind Lotor’s bulk. He wasn’t used to attention, and he didn’t like it. In his line of work, attention meant you were doing something wrong.

“Let’s go.” Lotor tugged at his arm roughly. Allura looked over at him in disapproval while the rest of the hunting troupe mounted. “Don’t be so rough with him, Lotor.” She chided. “He isn’t a prisoner.”

“He’s a mute, feral boy we found in the woods.” Lotor hissed as if Lance wasn’t even there. His grip tightened. “You can’t just take him home like a baby fox.” Lance looked around. Too many people to make his escape, and most of them were mounted, too. He would have to steal a horse if he wanted to have a chance.

Allura drew herself up to her full height. “He’s injured and bleeding, and he won’t speak!” She said. “I think I’m right to be concerned!”

Lotor huffed, his grip on Lance’s arm tightening. “It seems like I can’t change your mind.” He said coolly. “Come, boy.” He tugged.

A sharp growl cut through the air. Lotor and Allura turned, and Lance with them. Behind him, he could hear the horses panicking, sensing a predator in their midst, but more than that, sensing that it was not a natural one.

For a moment, Lance was caught in the fear bubbling up, seeing what everyone else must be seeing with a cold feeling of dread.

An enormous shadow under the trees shifted and grew and finally came into the light. Lance’s heart soared. It was Shiro, huge and dark, wings spread wide, feathers ruffled, teeth bared. He could have leapt for joy as he tore himself free from Lotor but before he could take a single step, Allura grabbed him.

She was deceptively strong, stronger even than Shiro, and Lance shouted wordlessly as he struggled in vain. Shiro’s growling rose in volume, as his steps quickened. Lance could see the flash of fear in his eyes, the determined set of his shoulders. He shouted again, struggling. _No!_ He wanted to beg. He wanted to be free, he wanted to get away and he wanted Shiro to be safe, but he didn’t want to hurt Allura, someone who had shown a stranger so much kindness. But she held him tight as he struggled, hauling him back. Lance could only watch in wordless desperation as Lotor pulled his sword, grip easy and practiced.

Shiro could defeat any man in hand to hand combat. But he was in lion form, unarmed except for teeth and claws, unused to fighting in such a strange shape, and Lotor had the power of range, agility, and cold hard steel. Lance yelled, screamed himself hoarse as Shiro barrelled into Lotor, sending them both skidding, shouted until his voice cracked as Lotor drew a second knife and sunk it into Shiro’s shoulder. He struggled wildly, but Allura’s steel grip never loosened.

If he had thought of it, he would have spoken, curse be damned. He would have broken his promise in a heartbeat, cried out to Shiro, tried to explain himself. But words were beyond him, locked away out of his reach behind a cold wall of horror as he helplessly watched Shiro and Lotor grapple. Blood slicked Shiro’s dark fur and darkened Lotor’s hair. Allura was yelling too, and the huntsmen behind her, finally gathering their wits enough to storm forward without their horses. Lance could see the end coming. Nobody could shoot, not with the risk of hitting Lotor with their arrows and bolts, but it would be only minutes before a soul as brave as him stormed forward to protect their Princess.

Lance could hardly breathe, hardly think. Fear thrummed through him in electric waves, numbing everything, making him struggle until the wounds on his hands broke open and blood welled up, smearing over Allura’s shining armour. Nothing mattered but Shiro.

Lotor had finally succeeded in pushing Shiro off him and man and lion stood panting for the barest hint of a second. Blood was running from a deep cut in Shiro’s muzzle, staining his long teeth red and making him look positively monstrous. For a moment, man and lion stared in a kind of awe, in recognition of an adversary. Lance thought he caught a flicker of Lotor’s face, the barest hint of confusion as if Lotor was slowly realizing something was amiss with this animal.

Shiro didn’t let him collect his thoughts. He pounced while Lotor seemed distracted. Later, Lance would learn that Lotor was never distracted.

The sword fell in a gleaming, glittering arc, with a swift hiss and a dull thud. Lance screamed.

Shiro fell, unable to catch his balance as his front leg was severed from his body with one smooth swing of Lotor’s sword.

Lance screamed and kicked, writhed and struggled, but it was hopeless. Shiro was snarling in pain but already trying to get back to his feet, his eyes wide and desperate. Lance watched in helpless horror, tears springing to his eyes.

“Go!” Lotor shouted, turning back to Allura and her huntsmen, something wild and bestial about his eyes. He knew that he had fought off the impossible, something that shouldn’t exist, and he wasn’t about to wait for it to recover. “Go, go!”

The huntsmen scrambled, the horses screamed in fear, and the ground trembled under thundering hooves.

“He won’t stop!” Allura shouted at Lotor, still holding a screaming Lance. “There’s no time!” Lotor grabbed her arm firmly. “Let him go!”

There was a moment of crystalline stillness, a breath of quiet, as if the entire world were waiting for a weight to drop. Allura hesitated.

Lotor’s face twisted at her stubbornness, desperation chasing admiration. “Fine.” He said, and Lance saw him raising his sword again, bringing the pommel down. Lance opened his mouth to yell, but before he could make a sound, the pommel struck, pain blossomed like a distant wildfire, and everything went dark.

 

Lance awoke in a bed like a cloud of silk, with shimmering curtains shielding him from the rest of the room and a man with a brilliantly red moustache looming over him.

“You’re awake!” He called out joyfully once he noticed Lance’s eyes were open. “Welcome back!”

Lance remained mute. His throat was hoarse and painful, scraped raw. Besides, he could think of nothing to say.

The man’s exuberance softened as he looked at Lance, wary and tense like a caged animal. Lance pushed off the silk blankets, staring in mute horror at the fine linen gown he had been dressed in, at his clean and bandaged hands. It felt violating, to have the wounds he wore so proudly hidden and covered up. It was like his sacrifice was being ignored, and that felt worse than being knocked out and dragged here, worse than being undressed and washed.

Lance looked up at the man with hurt and anger and made to leave the bed, but immediately the man was pushing him back down with a soft shushing sound.

“Stay.” He said firmly. Lance looked up at him, bewildered. The man smiled. “My name is Coran.” He stated with a kind of over-the-top flourish. “And you are in the castle of Princess Allura of Altea.”

Lance looked around him warily. He had already guessed. The silks, the gleaming metals, the ornate carvings- it couldn’t be anything else. Noticing the way Lance was staring, Coran lifted the curtains from the bed, allowing Lance a full view of the room.

It was a large, gleaming tower room, a sitting room really, with a desk and soft armchairs, a closet, a brass bathtub behind a linen screen and large windows. The view showed a garden, trim and clean and full of artistically carved hedges and bubbling little fountains.

“You are a guest in this place.” Coran explained gently. “This room is yours.”

Lance glared at him in surprise and affront. He didn’t want this room, or this garden. He wanted to be with Shiro and his friends in his cold and dirty cave with nettles stinging his hands until his skin peeled from the flesh.

His nettles. He panicked for a second, sitting up, lashing out, but Coran forced him back down easily. “You are not a prisoner.” He said firmly, misinterpreting Lance’s panic. Lance shook his head, mimed a satchel with wide eyes and trembling fingers. Coran’s mouth opened in a soft oh. “Your belongings?” He asked. Lance nodded frantically. “They are here.” Coran soothed him, pointing to the desk. Lance deflated. His satchel, some of his unfinished work poking out the top. It was safe.

He took a moment to study Coran properly. He was tall and gangly, with blue markings high on his cheekbones; markings, Lance realized with a start, shared by all the Alteans- including the one in his dream. He almost asked, but stopped himself.

He hadn’t spoken yet. He hadn’t spoken and his work was here. He didn’t know what happened to Shiro, he realize. The thought sent a sharp stab of pain through him, sending him reeling through memories and emotions to the edge of an abyss of pain so deep he knew it would swallow him whole if he let it. He pulled himself back.

He didn’t know what had happened to Shiro, but the others should be alright. The others were out there, safe and sound. If Lance could only find a way to get to them.

“The Princess told me you weren’t a man of many words.” Coran murmured, and, as if summoned, the door to the room opened with a bang and the Princess Allura herself swept into the tower with silks swirling and Lotor hot on her heels.

“He’s awake!” She said delightedly, with an edge of breathless panic, drawing alongside the bed and reaching out a hand to take Lance’s. “I am so very glad you’re alright.” She continued with the same breathless excitement. “I must apologize for Lotor’s behaviour, although I do hope you understand that the situation was a difficult one. He wants to apologize himself.” She glared at her companion.

“I apologize.” Lotor pressed the words out as if Allura had put them there and the unfamiliar shapes were grating unbearably. Allura smiled brightly as if she hadn’t even noticed. “Has he talked yet?” She asked Coran. Coran shook his head. Allura bit her lip, turning to Lance with worry in her eyes.

“Can you understand me?” She asked softly. Lance preferred the way Coran talked to him- Allura spoke like he was a skittish animal.

He nodded. Her face lit up. “Can you talk?” She asked eagerly. He nodded again. She bit her lip as if knowing that she was about to ask too much. “Will you talk?”

Lance shook his head without hesitation. She paused, let out a deep breath. Lance was surprised to find resignation in her tone. He had expected imperiousness, command. An order to speak, like he was a well-trained dog. But she just nodded her head in silent resignation and kept holding his hand gently as if he might break. “You are my guest for as long as you care to be.” She said with diplomatic evenness. “You are welcome. Coran will answer any questions you might...” She hesitated. “Coran will explain whatever he deems necessary, as will Lotor. If you have complaints, come to me about them.” She smiled softly. “I simply want to help. I hope you will be happy here. But for now, rest.”

She stood, and Lance, not quite knowing what else to do, leant back into the pillows and curled on his side. He could plan his escape later, when there was less attention on him.

Allura and Lotor stayed by his bedside for a while, watching silently. Curiously.

“He is quite beautiful, isn’t he?” Allura asked with a hint of awe once she thought he was asleep. Silence fell as Lotor considered Lance so intensely he could almost feel his gaze. “Beneath the grime, the exhaustion and the fact that he is half feral... I suppose so, yes.” Lotor said easily, his tone dismissive. “Is that why you saved him?”

There was a small thump as Allura slapped him on the arm. “Of course not.” She said sharply. Lotor chuckled, and he suddenly sounded much younger, much kinder.

“He’s strange, isn’t he?” He mused. “He didn’t seem at all afraid of the lion.”

“Perhaps he was raised by the beast. I’ve heard stories of children being raised by wolves.” Allura considered. Lotor hummed. “A little lion cub. It seems fitting.”

They watched silently for a while longer, and finally Lance could hear Allura turn. “Let him sleep.” She said. “All the mysteries will be answered with time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know. I should have mentioned that until now, it's pretty much Pre-Kerberos Shiro. But listen. I tried to fit it in. I really did. But I couldn't find the place without it seeming awkward (how awkward is "AND HE HAD TWO ARMS" or "LANCE ADMIRED HIS TWO-ARMED AND SCARLESS BOYFRIEND") and now I suppose it's too late.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance cares about everyone and almost no one cares about Lance :(
> 
> Side note, if anyone gives Allura shit you are blocked from this story, the girl is trying her best! She only wants to help!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uni has been crazy? And life has been weird? But I finished first term, I'm starting a double major, I got a job and an apartment, so I suppose I'm an adult now.
> 
> TW for referenced sexual abuse!!! It's very brief and nothing beyond talk happens but it's there!!!

Lance didn’t think he would ever adjust to life in the palace, but the oddness of it all became normality surprisingly quickly. Growing up first in poverty and then in the Blade of Marmora camp, he would never get used to the finery, but nobody was really surprised at his behaviour. His clumsiness with cutlery and his unfamiliarity with palace luxuries where explained away easily considering where everyone thought he came from. _Feral_ followed Lance through the halls, whispered between court members and attendants, foreign diplomats, guards and servants.

Everyone showed unlimited, condescending patience. The servant didn’t bat an eye when he got tangled in the silk curtains, tearing them, or broke the delicate paper screen in his room. He was treated like a child, and although at first Lance hated it, he soon tuned it out, ignored the contempt and the vague interest he was met with, ignored the way he was ogled like a zoo animal, ignored the way courtiers talked to him, trying to get him to speak so they could enjoy the novelty of hearing this strange feral creature’s clumsy words.

He slipped into the way of a spy, moving silently, gathering information and rumours, becoming a shadow once again.

He learned that he himself was currently the most interesting topic of conversation. Rumours flew and courtiers gossiped. Who was he? What was he doing here? Why was Allura so fond of him? Some thought he was a spy, some believed him sent by a supernatural force to protect or guide the princess. Some rumours were cruder. _“The princess has... unconventional tastes.”_ Polite noblemen would insinuate with low chuckles. The servants stated it clearer. _“She just wants to be held down by the feral boy.”_ Lance once overheard a maid saying. _“Who can blame her?”_

That was the only assumption Lance was certain was not correct. The princess had never been anything but polite and friendly. She showed him around the palace and the gardens, sat with him as they read and waited patiently for him to speak. She talked to him about everything and nothing, idle chatter in the hopes that Lance might finally respond. Their silences were comfortable, and Lance enjoyed her presence. She was beautiful, intelligent, kind, and some days she made him miss Shiro a little less. Other days, she just made him miss Shiro more.

“How did you come to Altea?” She asked once. Lance just shrugged. She sighed. Lance didn’t know why she kept trying. He never spoke, never made a sound, and yet, she never gave up.

Lotor disapproved, of course. He always would. He was Allura’s body guard, a half-breed who grew up constantly looking over his shoulder. Lance had grown to respect him, in a strange way. He was dedicated to protecting his princess, for reasons that Lance suspected were entirely personal. He seemed jealous of Lance and the affection the princess showed him. Lance didn’t care. Lotor had done nothing to earn his affection.

“Are the lions your family?” Allura questioned one day as they were walking through the gardens. Lance hesitated, looking away from her pitying eyes to watch the way the fountains sparkled and glittered in the sunlight, water lilies swaying ever so slightly in the pools. He nodded, still not looking at Allura. He couldn’t bear to see her face now. Her face that was both apology and pity. “I’m sorry.” She said softly. “That we tore you apart so violently.”

Lance trailed his fingers across the leaves of a rosebush instead of looking in her eyes. Her apology was truthful. She understood that he wasn’t meant to be here. But Lance knew that she thought this was still what was best. Lance knew that, as sorry as she was, she still thought she had saved him.

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but Lance couldn’t bring himself to hate her. She had been nothing but kind to him, and so he held his silence and turned his attention to the nettle coat in his hands. Allura watched him silently.

It was the third coat Lance would complete. He went through the motions automatically by now. His fingers and hands were red and hardened as if from a lifetime of work. His hands had always been callused, worn and shaped by training, shooting and climbing, living rough and quietly. But now they were hard all over, cracked and rough like those of an old woman. Even once he was finished, Lance knew, his hands would never heal again, not fully.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself.” Allura said softly. “You don’t have to work anymore. Ask, and I promise I will provide.”

Lance had hardly taken up the yarn when Allura rested her hand on his. “Please.” She whispered softly. “Please stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

Lance ignored her. It was too difficult to explain what he was doing, and even harder to explain why he was doing it. He was glad that this was just another of his oddities the court liked to explain away as the fancies of a half-wild creature. His work was his obsession, and nobody dared take it from him. The story of his ‘rescue’ had made the rounds quickly, and nobody wanted to cross the boy who was friends with lions.

Allura had once tried putting a basket of fine wool and beautiful needles in his room. Lance had taken the needles and left the wool, and she never tried again. She just stared at him sadly, like he was a feeble little animal that had been rescued just to waste away in dejected loneliness. Lance both despised and relished it.

“You’re safe here.” She said softly. “You don’t have to be scared.”

She repeated that same sentence every day, as if hoping one day she would simply get through to him by sheer perseverance. _It isn’t about safety,_ Lance wanted to tell her. _Have you ever brought home an injured deer? Whatever you do, the deer will be miserable. It’s supposed to be a wild creature. You don’t know what you took it away from. You don’t know what you took_ me _away from. I’m not supposed to be here._

Instead, they both sat in silence, sunk in their own thoughts, in their own isolation. Lance felt lonelier with her by his side.

He missed his friends.

Most of all, he missed Shiro.

Lance still found it difficult to sleep at night.

With the lions, his sleeping habits had changed to accommodate those precious few hours of human company. In the palace, he didn’t attempt to change anything about it. He simply didn’t see the need. Evenings where the time for parties, banquets, celebrations. Lance never wanted to go, no matter how often Allura extended the invitation.

He knew exactly what would happen if he went. He didn’t want to be the pet, walking along half a step behind, ogled and admired. He didn’t want to listen to the whispers of gleeful courtiers excited about the honour of seeing him up close. He didn’t want to be caught up in false one-sided conversation, or even worse, be talked about as if he couldn’t understand a word. He didn’t want to be displayed, the exotic feral boy from far away, laughed at, pitied, admired and feared in turn.

And so instead, he stayed in his room, working or reading or sleeping, going to bed with sundown and waking in the middle of the night, staring out the window to wonder if somewhere, far away, Shiro was alive and awake, healing from his wounds and missing Lance too.

One night, near the beginning of his stay, Lance had awoken far too early. The bed was soft, the covers warm, but his assassin’s instincts were sharp as ever and even now he was a light sleeper. He awoke as the door swung open without the slightest sound, spilling light in a narrow shaft through his room. Someone shuffled in with the sound of leather against the flagstones. Lance calmly reached under his pillow for his knife and pretended to be asleep, peering through his eyelashes into the dimness of the room.

Three tall figures made their way across the room, jingling ever so softly with shimmering jewellery. Not assassins, then. Lance relaxed, but only slightly.

“That’s him?” One of them whispered in a feminine, accented voice. Lance tensed, fingers wrapping around his knife. A courtier.

“The feral boy?” Another asked curiously. The third nodded. “I saw him with the Princess.” He confirmed in a low rasp. Lance shuddered, tried to disguise it as shifting in his sleep.

“I do wonder what she sees in him.” The woman whispered and then she was reaching out, touching his cheek as one would a precious object one feared breaking. Lance fought the urge to recoil from her touch as it ran further down, across his collarbones and down to tug at his blankets.

“He’s far too scrawny for a consort.” One of the men whispered. The other chuckled lowly, and the sound made Lance’s skin crawl. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t mind having him in my bed if the Princess isn’t using him.”

Lance’s grip tightened on the knife, ready to leap up at any second. He pinpointed exactly where they stood, exactly who he would have to stab first before he could sink his knife into the paunch of the last speaker.

The woman stopped tugging at his blanket. Lance didn’t relax. “Don’t be so crude.” She admonished. Lance hardly dared to breath as she brought the blanket up again and the three figures quietly shuffled away again.

Lance didn’t tell Allura about it, couldn’t tell Allura about it, but after that night he locked the door to his chambers when he went to bed.

He grew to prefer the palace at night, when all was quiet except for a few servants and guards around the halls. He liked the quiet, the dark broken by golden candlelight, the stars peeking through the windows to reflect off the gleaming floor. He took to wandering the halls, balconies and gardens of the palace in endless nighttime strolls, passing through hallways and ballrooms and portrait galleries. The guards and servants were used to him, the silent figure in his fine bathrobes stalking the halls restlessly, and they ignored him for the most part.

It was during one of these endless strolls, walking up and down the throne room, admiring the tapestries and paintings of Altea’s rulers of old, when he found it.

The painting was larger than life, huge and dark displayed in its position of prominence. Even in the gloom, Lance recognized the man posing in a suit of armour, sword in hand. _King Alfor of Altea,_ a plaque of hammered gold said. Allura’s father.

It was the man from his dream so long ago, the mysterious stranger who had told him how to break the curse, glaring down at him with an oil-painted glower. Lance shuddered under his gaze and fled the throne room, and decided to never venture that way again.

His favourite place to wander were the gardens. They were beautiful even by day, but by night they were silent, glowing in silver starlight, shadows falling dark and heavy. Sometimes, Lance could almost pretend he was free, under the forest’s rustling gaze where he belonged.

Other times, he would spend hours on his balcony overlooking the fountains and flowerbeds and thinking. He wondered what the others were doing. Were they looking for him? Had they given up? Beyond the towering walls, he could see just a tiny bit of the meadows beyond the palace, a tantalizing hint of freedom. Somewhere out there, his friends might still be alive, still under Haggar’s terrible curse. Lance kept working, weaving his nettle coats, and hoped that one day he might use them.

 

In a moment of doubt, a moment of weakness that would redefine everything, Lance sought out the King’s portrait again. He didn’t know why he did it. Uncertainty, perhaps? Fear? Maybe he hoped that the proud glower would kindle something like courage in his heart, maybe he hoped that seeing the face from his dream would strengthen his resolve.

Whatever it was that drove him back to the dark, silent throne room, the hope failed to manifest. He stood before that portrait, looked into those stern eyes and felt nothing but trepidation. The throne room was dark and silent, only the dim light from the lamp in his hand illuminating the hall, throwing strange, shifting shadows that made the king’s glare seem harder.

As Lance walked back to his room through the many hallways, one of the many doors swung open. Lance stiffened, dousing his lamp on instinct and melting into the shadows with a spy’s practiced grace.

Two men entered the hall, both tall and both obviously trying to stay quiet, whispering to each other in urgent tones. They weren’t servants, Lance knew that much. Courtiers, then? But courtiers weren’t up during these hours.

Lance couldn’t help but eavesdrop, more force of habit than actual interest leading him to shadow the two men as they walked, arguing in whispered tones.

“We need to act soon, while her position is still weak!” One of them hissed.

“No!” The other swept his hand through the air harshly. “We need a plan. Everything needs to be perfect. There is no need to act rashly while she is still attempting to gather the kingdom after the death of her father.”

Lance could hardly breathe. He was no stranger to plotting against royalty, but he was usually among the plotters.

“We don’t know how long her weakness will last!” The other argued.

“The people still call her ‘Princess’! We have time.” The second man insisted. Lance’s limbs felt cold and heavy with shock, and the sudden cold, confusing horror made him clumsy.

The slightest rustle of his bathrobe was enough. The men whipped around, startled, and Lance barely managed to slip into the shadows of a nearby pillar quickly enough.

“What was that?” The first man hissed. The other grabbed his arm. “Never mind.” He replied urgently. “Just a servant. But let’s go. We can talk later.” He dragged the first man along the hallway, leaving Lance in the shadows, breathing heavily and staring at nothing in particular, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.

Allura.

She had always been kind to him. Always had good intentions. She was never cruel, never asked anything of him, and if she was in danger, he had to let her know somehow. But he was condemned to silence, and he didn’t know who the plotters where. There would be no sneaking around the palace with knives, no poison in cups, not while he didn’t know everyone involved.

But he couldn’t stand idly by and watch Allura be toppled and killed. Lance clenched his fists, nails stinging the palms of his hands. He had a mission. And for the first time, it was to protect.

 

It was on one of the many nights that Lance spent on the balcony, looking out on the garden as he absentmindedly worked, that something fell out of the sky.

Lance sprang to his feet immediately, needles clattering onto the stone balcony as he ran to the delicate banister. Below, a huge, writhing black shape moved amidst the rose bushes where it had fallen. Lance’s heart was pounding as he climbed the banister without hesitation, dangling briefly before clambering down along the palace wall, shimmying and dropping and swinging until he felt soft, damp earth beneath the soles of his bare feet.

Lance clambered out of the bushes onto the gravel path, ignoring the sting of the gravel on his soles. The soft, sheer lace and chiffon of his nightgown catching and tearing on the branches. He pulled his knife, the only one he had been able to hide from Lotor, a blade so tiny it could hardly be called a knife, but deadly in the right hands.

Lance gripped it tight, his only defence, and stalked towards the still rustling flowerbeds. The thing was whining pitifully, sounds that sounded increasingly human the closer Lance got. Whatever it was, it certainly didn’t sound threatening, just small and hurt like it had just hurtled into some rosebushes into the middle of the night. Lance stepped closer, not making a sound, and reached forward ever so gently amidst the rosebushes. The moon was shining bright on the scene, but still the shape was dark, hidden among the shadows and the leaves.

 _One._ Lance breathed. _Two._ He raised his tiny blade. _Three._

He pulled the rosebushes apart with a sudden violence, and the moonlight spilled onto the strange writhing form with brilliant curiosity, illuminating the shape in the squashed and destroyed middle of the rosebushes.

Lance thought that he might stop breathing.

“Lance?” The figure that had fallen from the sky whispered, it’s tone reverent, it’s eyes wide. Lance stared, mute, the shock pinning his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

_Shiro._

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! It's been a while, but it's a long one <3 Thanks for all your love and your comments!!

Shiro stared at Lance and Lance stared at Shiro in shocked silence. Shiro crouched in the rosebush, the last of the feathers from his transformation still falling softly around him. There were scratches on his face, a new scar across his nose and rose petals in his hair, the white forelock contrasting starkly against the dark of the night and the flowers.

Lance sank to his knees as his legs gave out, reaching for Shiro with trembling hands. Shiro hesitated, the wide-eyed joy fading as he looked down. Lance followed his gaze to his own right shoulder, the upper arm ending in a neatly bound stump.

Tears sprang to Lance’s eyes and he stifled a sob in his hands. That was because of him. It was his fault, his fault, his fault only. Shiro looked away in shame, and that just made Lance want to cry more. Didn’t Shiro blame him? Lance knew he should, yet Shiro looked at him without the slightest hint of anger or hurt. Lance reached out carefully, eyes glued to the stump. Shiro flinched back fearfully. Lance’s eyes flicked up to meet his. He wished he could apologize somehow, but it felt like something too big to address.

Shiro turned his face aside, unable to meet Lance’s eyes. Lance reached out again, gently, slowly, but Shiro still flinched when he carefully touched his jaw. Lance stilled, but refused to move away, letting Shiro get used to his touch. Shiro’s jaw was tense under his hands, his fist clenching and unclenching, but Lance just shuffled slightly closer, and finally, with a sigh of breath, the tension left Shiro’s body. Lance gently turned Shiro’s face toward him. Shiro stared at him with wonder, but the careful control, the edge of apprehension, was still sharp around the corners of his mouth, and Lance couldn’t help himself anymore. He fell into Shiro’s arms and crushed their lips together, wanting nothing more than to kiss away that edge.

Shiro let out a muffled sound of surprise, and then he was kissing him back, soft and warm and dizzying, as if nothing had changed between them. One arm tangled in Lance’s silky robe as Shiro placed a large, steadying hand on the small of Lance’s back, and Lance felt the other arm twitch, as if Shiro had attempted to move it instinctually.

Immediately, Shiro stilled, tensing up again. Lance pulled back, reached out to touch him, but Shiro wouldn’t even look at him. Lance frowned. There was so much he wanted to say, and with Shiro here, human and in his arms, it would be so easy to just… speak. He clenched his hands, feeling the calluses, the permanent nettle burns, the bloody crusted wounds on his hands. Somewhere up in his rooms, he had three nettle coats. He couldn’t give up now.

So, instead of speaking, he leaned in slowly to kiss the bridge of Shiro’s nose, where his scar slashed in a sickly reddish purple across his skin, still fresh and painful to look at. Shiro’s breath hitched. Lance paused.

“Lance.” Shiro whispered, softly, gently, as if only just realizing Lance was really there. Lance smiled. _Shiro,_ he mouthed silently. Shiro laughed, a high, reedy sound so full of relief there was no more place for humour. “I found you.” He whispered. Lance nodded. _You did._ Shiro’s grip tightened on his arm. “I found you.” He whispered again. Lance nodded and leaned in to kiss his doubts away.

“You’re safe.” Shiro leaned his forehead against Lance’s, and fingered the silks he was wearing. “How are you safe? What happened?”

Lance stayed silent. Shiro took a deep breath.

“Lance. Did they hurt you?”

Lance shook his head. Shiro visibly deflated with relief. “That’s…” he kept stroking up and down Lance’s arm, over and over, as if he couldn’t believe he really could. “That’s good. I’m glad. But… how?”

Lance shrugged. It was too much to explain, especially without speaking a word.

“I thought you’d be imprisoned.” Shiro whispered. Lance laughed and shook his head. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Shiro continued. “Every night, we’ve been flying all over Altea. There’s been some close calls.” He chuckled. Lance shook his head in alarm.

“Don’t worry.” Shiro calmed him. “We’re all safe. But they’ll all be so glad to see you. We just need to wait until I change back, and then we can leave. I can get you out of here, Lance.”

Lance’s breath caught in his chest. Freedom! It was so close he could taste it. But…

It hit him like a load of bricks. _Allura._

He couldn’t leave Allura. She didn’t know the danger she was in, and neither did Lotor, the only person Lance really trusted to keep her safe. She had done things wrong, of course, but always with the best intentions, and she didn’t deserve death and betrayal. He couldn’t abandon her, not now.

Lance shook his head and pulled away from Shiro, keeping a tight hold on his hand. Hurt crossed Shiro’s dark eyes. “What’s wrong?” He questioned gently. Lance bit his lip, a sharp pain lodging itself deep into his heart as the hurt settled firmly on Shiro’s face. “What…” Shiro swallowed. “Do you… want to stay with her?”

The question hung in the air, heavier for not being asked. _Do you love her?_

Lance couldn’t stand that face, the heavy eyes, the tremble in Shiro’s jaw as he fought to keep his feelings at bay. If only he could… His fingers twitched in his lap. It was a risk. A risk he could no longer afford not to take.

Shiro watched with steady, silent astonishment as Lance raised his hands and began to sign.

P-R-I-M-C-E-S, Lance signed clumsily. D-A-N-G-E-R. All the air wooshed out of Shiro’s lungs. It felt as if he was hearing Lance’s voice, felt as if a dam was breaking, a river rushing free. It felt like the first signs of spring after a hard winter. It felt like Lance was finally speaking.

“You’re in danger? If you leave?” Shiro questioned softly, trying to get his head to stop spinning. Lance shook his head but refused to clarify.

“The princess? Is in danger?” Shiro questioned again and Lance lit up, eyes gleaming, smile splitting his face wide, shaking in joy as he nodded and nodded and nodded until Shiro thought his head might come off.

It might have been the first time in months that he was understood.

“And you want to… help her.” Shiro continued, soft with realization. “Even after what she did to you.”

Lance nodded, raised his hands to sign again, but before he could, Shiro was in his space, his lips on Lance’s, one large hand against his jaw. “God,” Shiro breathed against his lips, “you’re amazing. You’re… I lo-“

He cut himself off, pulling back shyly. In the silver moonlight, Lance thought he could see the blush on his cheeks, broken by the dull scar. Lance reached up to trace Shiro’s jawline with infinite fondness and then pulled back.

 _I._ He signed. _I L-O-V-E Y-O-U._

He smiled up at Shiro shyly, now blushing as well. It felt like something he had known for so long, a secret he was finally sharing.

Shiro stared at him, open-mouthed. His eyes tracked Lance’s every movement, meeting his hopeful gaze with silent shock.

“I love you too.” Shiro finally whispered.

Lance knew that. He had known it for so long, and still it felt like a revelation, like Shiro had pulled the stars from the sky and gifted them to him.

“I love you.” Shiro repeated. “And I’m proud of you for being so selfless. I’ll tell the others, and I’ll come visit you. I promise.”

Lance blinked tears from his eyes. Even if he could speak, words would have failed him. Instead, he lurched forwards and wrapped his arms around Shiro’s larger form, holding him close among the roses and the thorns, holding him and kissing him, pulling back to smile before their lips met again and again. He rested his head on Shiro’s chest, listening to the steady, calming thrum of his heartbeat, until Shiro softly groaned in pain and Lance’s arms were suddenly wrapped around the soft, furred torso of the huge lion. Lance’s breath shuddered through him. Shiro would have to go, now. There was no way Lance could introduce human Shiro to Allura, let alone lion Shiro.

He couldn’t stay.

But at least, as Lance watched the huge beast turn, spread his wings and sail away into the night sky, Lance was holding a large, inky black feather, and that made him feel just a little less alone.

 

Life in the castle continued, with one marked improvement: Lance’s nights were spent in Shiro’s arms. Allura didn’t seem to notice, already too used to Lance’s strange sleeping habits to notice his tiredness during the day, and neither did Lotor, glare as he might whenever he and Lance met. It only doubled the thrill; getting to be in his lover’s arms at night intensified by the satisfaction of hiding a secret under his friendly captor’s nose. The excitement put a skip in Lance’s step and made the work of the nettle coats go faster than ever.

As the third coat neared completion, Lance noticed Allura’s mood picking up. She was stressed and pale most days, all frown lines and urgent whispered arguments with Lotor. She either didn’t trust or didn’t want to bother Lance with affairs of state and her personal worries, but he knew more than she did; a side effect of being mute was that people assumed you were deaf, or that their secrets were safe with you, and the rest Lance found out as he crept around the castle at night. He felt it safe to say that he knew more of life and intrigue in the royal palace than anyone else.

Despite Allura’s stress and worry, she always took the time to care for Lance, to sit with him for lunch or for tea, to talk to him or walk with him, and to try again and again to gently convince him to talk. Lance realized once that she was hoping that once the third nettle coat was finished, he would stop his work, would finally settle fully into the palace, perhaps break his silence, or at least stop his eternal work and let his hands heal. She stared silently, with the kind of everlasting patience of those who know it will all be over soon.

Lance didn’t know what she would do once she realized he would just keep going. Would she finally lose her patience or her temper? Would she stop him? She had been patient so far, but even her patience must have limits. Lance hoped he wouldn’t have to test hers.

 

Lance slept with sundown and woke in the middle of the night, with the stars shining in coldly and the moonlight curiously inching into his room.

Lance was early, he realized as he opened the doors to the balcony, belting his robe as he stared into the garden. It was empty, nothing but the rosebushes swaying gently and insects chirping. Shiro would be over the wall soon, Lance knew, and until then, there was no use in going to sleep again. So instead, he toed off his slippers and slunk silently into the corridor.

He hadn’t been able to find out much more about the plot still right under his nose, and it was worrying him. How was he to protect Allura if he couldn’t find out who was at the heart of this plan to hurt her? He knew what he had to do, and he knew how to do it- but it wouldn’t do to start before he didn’t know all the cogs, all the masterminds behind it. Intrigue like this was a weed- he had once been one of the roots and knew just how dangerous even a single survivor could be.

Without leads, he had spent most of his time hovering around the room he had first seen the plotters emerge from, hoping that they would be stupid enough to use the same room twice. So far, without success. But tonight there were voices coming from it.

At first, Lance almost turned away. The voices were too loud, too excitable. No one that loud could be plotting anything. But then again… That was Coran’s voice. He crept closer.

“Princess Allura, you shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this.”

“I know, Coran.” The Princess’ voice was quieter, but clear through the door. Lance pressed himself against the old oak. “I just want him to feel safe and welcome.”

“He’s been here for months, Allura. I respect your effort, but if he doesn’t feel like this is his home by now, he never will.” Coran replied gently. “Besides, you can never know what that boy thinks, he’s a silent mystery.”

Lance’s breath caught in his chest. They were talking about him.

“You’re right.” The Princess sighed, barely audible. “You’re always right. He seems like such a strong and kind soul, and I just… I just wanted to help.” Her breath hitched loudly, and Lance realized with a sudden shock that she must be crying.

“Hush, it’s alright, dear. It’s alright. I’m sure he knows. He’s a smart boy. Silent, but smart. He knows.”

“I just hope that now that that blasted coat is almost finished he’ll at least find peace in that. Stop working so much. Maybe start socializing, or even speaking. Be less alone.” Allura admitted. Lance bit his lip.

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” Coran replied gently, and Lance’s heart lifted. “He’s strange, and I think those coats mean something very special to him. He might not stop ever. You have to accept that. Be glad if he finds his home here, but be ready for him to always be himself- wild and feral and endlessly working on those coats.”

“But they cause him so much pain!” Allura protested.

“It will cause him even more pain to be forbidden from making them.” Coran said firmly, and Lance could have burst into the room to hug him. “Now, go to sleep, dear. It’s far too late.”

Lance could barely melt into the shadows quick enough before the door creaked open, spilling golden light into the corridor. His spy mission may have been unsuccessful yet again, but it had been valuable nevertheless, at least in calming his nerves.

Coran and Allura moved off towards her rooms, passing by Lance quietly. “Lord Lubos.” Allura said quietly as she passed some lord in the hallway. Lance was impressed. Hardly a tremble in her voice betrayed that she had just been crying.

“Princess Allura.” Lord Lubos replied, and Lance’s heart shuddered to a cold, sudden standstill.

He knew that voice. He knew the way it said Allura’s name.

Lance leant forward to catch a first glimpse of Allura’s would-be-assassin.

The candlelight was dimmed at night, as if to hide the busy servants and guards occupying the halls at all hours. The pale gold light illuminated Lord Lubos just enough for Lance to properly catch his face, trace and memorize the features lightning quick. Lance’s heart quickened. He had his first target.

Allura and Coran moved further down the hall, and Lubos in the opposite direction. Silent as a shadow, Lance stepped out from the shadows to follow him. He stalked the lord with practiced ease, silent, vanishing into the dark. In the end, he needn’t have bothered- Lord Lubos never even looked around.

Finally, the man vanished into his room, still unsuspecting. Lance was disappointed, but if he had no other information, at least he now knew where to look for it, at least he now knew where one of the conspirators slept. And maybe, just maybe, Lubos would say something, anything, maybe Lance could get close to him, maybe he was talking even now…

Lance crept closer to the door and pressed his ear to it, but he heard nothing but the shuffle of a man getting ready for bed. Perhaps he had come from a conspirator’s meeting, and oh, how that thought hurt, but at least now Lance had a starting point.

He kept listening for a while, hoping, but finally he had to admit to himself that it was useless, at least for tonight. And maybe, by now, Shiro would be here…

Lance was about to leave when suddenly he was grasped by the back of the neck and flung full body against the rough stone wall next to the door. He muffled an indignant squawk, far too aware suddenly of what he had just been caught doing, and what Lubos might do to him if he knew.

Lance was winded for a moment, completely motionless with surprise and shock, dark spots dancing in his vision. He berated himself even as he recovered; where this a mission, he would be dead by now. When had he let himself get so tardy, so out of shape?

“I never did trust you.” Lotor breathed into his face. Lance thrashed in his grip, recovering quickly, but Lotor’s grip simply tightened. “Stop, or I’ll call out Lord Lubos.”

Lance stilled. Lotor grinned, sharp and humourless. “No doubt he would be very interested to know why you’re spying on him. So would I, for that matter.”

Lance glared at him silently, and Lotor sighed. “I don’t know what I expected.” He muttered as one hand went to Lance’s silk robe, patting up and down with cold efficiency; Lance was glad for it. Lotor may not have had any shame in touching him, but he didn’t linger; there was nothing sexual in his touch.

“Be glad you don’t have any weapons on you.” Lotor said finally with a scowl. “If I had caught you hding outside a Lord’s room fully armed, not even Allura could have saved you.”

Lance let out a long breath. Maybe now Lotor would let him go. But instead, the Captain of the Guard leaned in even closer. “I take my job very seriously.” He said lowly. “And I don’t trust you one bit. I know you’re not as stupid or as harmless as everyone seems to think. I’ll be watching you, _boy._ And if I suspect that you pose any threat to the Princess or anyone else in this castle, I won’t hesitate to get rid of you.” Lotor’s grip eased and he stepped back, leaving Lance space to breathe. “Now, go. And remember that I’ll be watching you.”

Lance wanted to slap the smirk from Lotor’s face, wanted him to apologize with knife to his throat, but in the end, he turned around and left.

Shiro never appeared that night, or perhaps he had already left. It left Lance feeling empty, cold with dread. He wandered around the garden for hours, numbly, unable to find the resolve to go back inside, back to sleep. He walked until he couldn’t anymore, and then crawled under a bush and slept until dawn.

 

He spent the next day like a zombie, somehow even more silent than usual, lethargic and joyless. He spent his day wishing for the night to come, longing for Shiro and the comfort of his arms. He avoided Lotor’s suspicious glares, Allura’s probing questions, Coran’s kind smiles and wished the sun would finally go down.

He was in the garden the moment the sky was finally dark, although he knew Shiro wouldn’t appear for hours, but he was too restless to stay in his room a moment longer.

Lance could have cried when the huge shadow finally passed over the palace wall. Shiro had barely landed when Lance threw himself at him, toppling him off balance. They rolled through the grass, Lance’s peals of laughter breaking the clear night. Shiro huffed curiously. Lance sat up, grinning broadly. M-I-S-S  Y-O-U. He signed, and the lion perked up instantly, butting his head against Lance with the gentle affection of a cub. Lance laughed brightly and wound his arms around Shiro’s neck, fingers brushing through the silky mane. They lay like that, boy and lion, until Shiro’s breath quickened almost imperceptibly, and within a single breath, Lance was lying in the arms of his lover.

“The transformation is getting easier.” Shiro said with a soft, uncomfortable sigh. Lance wordlessly moved closer, wound his arms tighter. Shiro chuckled. “I missed you too… love.”

Lance just hummed noncommittally and pushed his head under Shiro’s chin until Shiro finally gave him a kiss. Supposedly, he could just sign everything now; after all, it would make no difference. If signing had ruined the spell, it couldn’t get any more ruined.

But signing was exhausting; and Lance had come to enjoy the silence; the understanding that passed between him and Shiro without words.

So instead, he occupied his hands with touching Shiro, tracing his scar, his lips, touching his hair, kissing his cheeks.

They lay amidst the roses in silence for close to two hours, the scent of the flowers all around them, the moon their only witness. Lance felt everything melt into the ground below, all his worries and fears, all the trouble around the palace and with Lotor. For now, it was only him and Shiro.

Finally, Shiro pulled him up. “I have to move.” He grinned softly. “Only two hours with these legs, I need to stretch them somehow.”

They walked in the garden, between silver fountains and softly whispering trees. Even after Shiro had transformed, they kept walking, Lance’s hand in Shiro’s mane, Shiro’s tail winding around Lance’s leg. Lance couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else.

Finally, Shiro left, with Lance waving goodbye until the huge shadow disappeared. He turned towards the portico and the garden door. If he went straight to bed, he could…

The movement was so quick he could never have seen it coming, and in an instant, Lance found himself once again pinned against the palace walls… with Lotor’s perfumed breath once again on his face.

“So, this is what you do at night?” Lotor snarled. “Betray Allura’s hospitality?”

Lance struggled, furious, more at himself than at Lotor. How had he let himself be caught? How had he not noticed Lotor? How long had he been followed? And worst of all, how had he let himself be pinned _again?_

He let out an incoherent yell, but Lotor slapped a hand over his mouth. “Hush.” He said. “I won’t hurt you over this.”

Lance glared at him, angry and confused. Lotor shrugged. “You aren’t hurting anyone.” He said. “I keep my promises. And although I don’t know what the hell _that_ was… what dark magic…” He huffed. “Whatever it is, you aren’t threatening Allura.” He finished, as if reminding himself. “But I know, boy.” His voice slipped easily back into threatening. “I know, and you had better stay in line if you want to keep your secret… well, secret.”

Lance fought his way out of the grip, glaring at Lotor as he rubbed his wrists.

Lotor sighed. “You’re in love.” He said softly. “I can’t fault you for that. I know far too much of it myself.” He hesitated. “Be careful.” He said finally, already walking away. “You’re not the only person with secrets in this palace.”

 

Lance woke the next morning finally well rested, as if a weight had been lifted from him, and found the castle in uproar. Courtiers were running and shouting in the hall outside, the guards missing from his door, and as he opened the door, Allura rushed by in her dressing gown, shouting to her advisors.

Lance slipped out of his room, unnoticed in the chaos, and followed Allura. If anyone, she would consider the fact that he might want to know what the hell was going on.

She vanished into one of her conference chambers- one reserved for emergency meetings, if Lance remembered correctly. Lance had barely raised his hand to knock when suddenly he sensed the movement behind him. He ducked, instincts kicking in, and aimed a sweeping kick at his attacker.

With a loud clang, Lotor went down on the floor. Lance couldn’t help but be smug. Lotor had it coming. The Captain struggled to his feet, face red, and reached out as if to attack Lance again, perhaps pin him to the palace wall a third time, but Lance caught his wrist in an instant, and within a second Lotor found himself pressed up against him, Lance’s knife pressed against the gap below his armour. He pulled himself free, and Lance let him go.

“What did you _do?”_ Lotor snarled. Lance’s smugness melted to mute confusion. Lotor heaved a sigh. “Lord Lubos.” He snapped. “Remember him?”

Lance nodded carefully.

“He’s dead.” Lotor said curtly. Lance could feel the blood rushing from his face. His only lead…

“Murdered in his bed last night.” Lotor continued. His eyes narrowed to yellow slits. “And I blame you.”

Lance opened his mouth before he thought better of it, and settled with crossing his arms and glaring. Lotor glared right back. “The worst part is, you can’t have done it.” He began pacing. “I was watching you all night yesterday. But somehow Lord Lubos is dead, and somehow, _somehow.”_ He looked up at Lance with cold, calculating glare of a cat preparing to pounce. “Somehow you did it. And I _will_ find out how.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The noose draws tighter, and the end nearer.
> 
> Thank you for all your love and support and comments!!! I think there's one more chapter in this story, maybe two <3 I'm also thinking about writing one or two shorts set in this universe, so comment what you'd like to see in a short ;)

The door creaked just slightly as Lance pushed it open. The room beyond it was clean, no sign that just a few days ago, a murder had been committed in these very four walls.

The day of the murder, Allura had sent messengers to Olkarion, preparing for the body to be brought home with all necessary honours. For a few days, the palace had been in uproar, and it had been impossible for Lance to find a way to sneak into the Lord’s room, but finally the palace was quiet. The courtiers were all at the ceremony for the dead Lord, and the hallway and room were finally empty.

Of course, Lance would have preferred to see the scene of the murder earlier, to gather evidence as soon as possible, but as suspicious as Lotor was, he couldn’t risk it. Now the room was clean, most clues wiped away, but thankfully the room had been left as it had been when Lubos was still alive, and if Lance was lucky, there would be some clues the cleaning staff had missed.

He started with the most obvious places; under the mattresses, loose floorboards, fake floors in chests and drawers. Nothing, but then again, Lance would have hoped that anyone involved in a conspiracy against royalty had more sense than to hide important notes under the mattress.

Still, it didn’t take Lance another half hour to make his first find, a thin sheaf of papers pressed between the pages of a book. A good hiding place, really; at least it would have been had Lord Lubos had the sense to hide each paper separately. As it was, the sheaf stuck out like a sore thumb, and Lance laughed to himself as he removed it. _Amateur,_ he thought to himself, shuffling through the pages.

They were personal letters, some of a private, obviously nostalgic nature, others pure nonsense; it was those that drew Lance’s attention. They looked like clumsy schoolboy’s exercises, nonsensical and clumsy, but if they were that harmless, Lubos never would have kept them, much less hidden them.

They were a code, Lance realized. Not one he had used with the Blades, unfortunately, but undoubtedly a code. He hesitated for a moment. Should he leave them for Lotor to find? If Lotor could find the conspirators, Allura’s safety and Lance’s innocence would be guaranteed. But then again, Lotor let himself be so blinded by jealousy that he had immediately blamed the one person whose alibi he could guarantee. He couldn’t trust Lotor as far as he could throw him, Lance decided, pocketing the papers. He could only trust himself.

 

As the palace quieted and life unavoidably moved on, Lance didn’t. He made use of Altea’s library, trying day and night to crack the strange code. He finished his third coat and ignored Allura’s stricken look as he immediately began the fourth and last.

Starting the last coat sent a thrill through him that lasted for weeks. The _last_ coat. In a matter of months, he could save his friends. He could save Allura. He could speak. He could be in Shiro’s arms and tell him he loved him, he could spend a day with his lover in the sunlight.

The last coat.

Lance worked with frantic energy. Time was slipping out from under him, trickling through his fingers. Tensions were rising in the castle. There were more guards than ever. And still, the plot might be continuing.

He became obsessed with the letters. It frustrated him that this was something he couldn’t do. Should his blade training abandon him now?

He couldn’t put them down anymore, not even for the nettle coat. The childish scribbles were the only thing on his mind.

He took the letters to the gardens where he would meet Shiro, scattered them all around him as he pondered them, so focussed he hardly noticed the heavy weight landing behind him.

He jumped as warm breath tickled his neck, and Shiro laughed behind him.

“Hello, my lovely prince.” Shiro greeted him, and Lance hummed happily as he leaned into his embrace. “What’s got you so distracted?”

Lance indicated the papers before him, and Shiro hummed as he settled down. “Can’t stop being a spy, I see.” Shiro laughed, settling his head in the crook of Lance’s shoulder. Lance melted into it, enjoying Shiro’s steady presence as he examined the letters.

“Can I help?” Shiro asked after a while. Lance nodded without looking over at him, and Shiro gathered up a few papers. They sat in silence, reading by the bright light of the moon, warm and secure in their embrace. Finally Shiro put down the papers and settled for watching Lance, his lips moving, the silver of the moon drawing highlights across his hair and lighting up his eyes until the glowed.

“Is something wrong with the cipher that you can’t figure out?” Shiro asked finally. Lance looked up at him, confused. They stared at each other in bewildered silence.

“Cipher.” Shiro said finally, indicating the sheet of paper clutched in Lance’s fist. Lance looked down at it, still bewildered, and finally shook his head. _MESSAGE_ he signed, indicating the sheet. Shiro frowned. “No.” He said. “Lance, no. That’s the cipher.” He picked up the other letters, the small affectionate notes that Lance had assumed were from friends and family. “These are the messages.”

Lance’s mouth dropped open. Shiro broke into laughter, bright and loud, beautiful in the moonlight. Lance looked down at the paper in his hand, at the letters on the ground in front of him, at Shiro giggling giddily. He looked up helplessly, and Shiro met his eye with a humorous glint. Lance couldn’t wrap his head around it for a moment. Had he really…? Shiro grinned at him brightly, without any malice in his eyes. _AM IDIOT_ , Lance signed slowly, and Shiro broke into laughter.

“You’re my idiot.” He said warmly, pulling Lance against him and kissing his forehead. “My idiot, and I love you.”

Lance smiled. _I love you too,_ he wanted to say, but all he could do instead was surge up and capture Shiro’s lips in a kiss.

 

Once he had realized his mistake, Lance managed to decode the messages with relative ease. It was the simple code of people unfamiliar with spywork with no reason to believe anyone was onto them. Still, they hadn’t been completely reckless. The messages contained no information, nothing that could condemn the conspirators, just a series of locations and times, always changing. Lance almost gave up then and there, but they had still made one last, vital mistake.

One of the letters included time and place of the next meeting.

Lance debated leaving the letters for Lotor to find, but it was too risky. Even Lance, with a life of Blade training, had needed a month to crack the code. Lotor might make the same mistake, or not even recognize it as code. If he didn’t decode the message on time, the meeting would be past; their only chance to find the culprits red-handed gone. To be safe, Lance would have to go as well; and if Lotor, against all odds, did find the message on time, interpret it correctly and show up to the meeting, Lance would be arrested instantly on suspicion of murder.

No, Lance decided. In this, as in all things since he had come to the palace, he was alone.

 

Until the night of the meeting came, Lance worked harder and harder on the nettle coats. If he could just finish, he kept repeating to himself as he spun and weaved and knit. If he could just finish, everything would be over. Allura would be safe. Shiro would be safe. He would be safe.

If he could just finish.

But before he could finish, he ran out of nettles.

In the first moment, he didn’t realize the full extent of the problem. So far, once he ran out, all he had to do was go into the forest to gather some more. That was the first thing he realized with a surge of panic- there was no way he could go to the forest. But what was worse, was that no matter how Lance searched, there were no nettles to be found on the castle grounds either.

He searched in the most abandoned corners, behind the gardeners shed, in the kitchen garden, by the servant quarters, but Allura’s royal gardeners were diligent, and there was not a single nettle leaf to be found.

Lance searched until nightfall, until he had to give up, and still he had nothing to show for it. Shiro would help, he comforted himself as he wrapped himself in his blanket. Shiro would know what to do.

He awoke hours later to his balcony doors swinging wide open and Shiro’s large wings blocking out the moon in the doorway. Lance smiled as he sat up, his heart already lighter in his chest as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to greet Shiro at the balcony.

Outside the window, a single owl screeched miserably, and inside, the world faded away as Lance cradled Shiro’s face and kissed him amidst a flurry of black feathers.

“Darling.” Shiro whispered against his lips. “I missed you.”

Lance smiled and kissed him again, running his hands over Shiro’s shoulder to dust off the downy underfeathers.

“Lance, my love.” Shiro pushed him away, held him gently with a hand cradling his jaw. “I can’t come to see you anymore.”

Lance stared at him, open-mouthed.

“They doubled the guard.” Shiro explained. “I could barely get past them tonight. I’m sorry, my love.”

Lance didn’t hesitate. _TAKE ME WITH,_ he signed. Shiro blinked down at him. “You… Are you sure, love?”

Lance nodded. He couldn’t imagine his nights without Shiro, his days without looking forward to seeing him. He needed Shiro. Above all else, he would always need Shiro.

“What about the Princess?” Shiro asked softly. Lance’s breath caught, hot tears pricking his eyes. Shiro was right. What about Allura?

But didn’t Shiro and his friends come first? Didn’t breaking the curse come first? Didn’t Lance’s own safety come first?

Lotor wouldn’t let him out of his sight, the plotters were laying low after the death of Lubos, and the work on his nettle coats was at a standstill. The noose was drawing tighter.

His best bet was to run. If he could run, if he could finish the nettle coats, he could break his silence too. He could come back and explain everything. If he finished fast enough, he could save Allura. If he stayed, he was trapped. _YES._ Lance sighed. _SURE._

“Love.” Shiro’s voice cracked. Lance leaned up to kiss him quiet. _NOW_ , he signed, cocking his head in question. Shiro let out a slow, shuddering breath.

“No.” He decided. “It’s too risky. There’s too many guards, and I can’t risk you being hurt. Sneak out tomorrow night, through the kitchen side door. I’ll meet you there.”

Lance nodded, smile brilliant. He would be free again, at Shiro’s side again. And soon, so soon he could almost taste it, Shiro would be human again, and this long, long curse would be broken. But…

 _NEED._ He signed slowly. _NETTLES._

“You need more nettles?” Shiro asked. Lance nodded eagerly. Shiro sighed, lifting Lance’s hand to his mouth to kiss it. “I know how important this is to you, love.” He said softly. “We can go get nettles tomorrow night. I promise.”

Lance smiled, heart warming at the gentleness in Shiro’s touch. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would be free, tomorrow they would be together again. Tomorrow.

And for now, they could enjoy tonight in each other’s arms.

 

Lance wished he could say goodbye. All day, seeing Allura and Coran in the halls and gardens, having lunch with them, listening to them talk among themselves, Lance wanted nothing more than to take them by the hand and wish them goodbye, tell them he would be back, tell them why he needed to go and that it was breaking his heart.

But he could do none of that. All he could do was smile and squeeze Allura’s hand and disappear come evening without a trace or a word.

He packed nothing more than what he had entered the castle with; his knives, his nettle cloaks and the clothes on his back. He might be a liar, a spy, an assassin, a thief, but he didn’t steal from friends. The only thing of Allura’s he took with him where the polished wood knitting needles. The silks, the robes, the jewellery, where all left behind as he slipped through the door and out into the palace.

The servants where used to Lance’s wandering and didn’t spare him so much as a glance as he slipped through the corridors and into the empty servants quarters. The kitchen was empty, a huge, hollow space, fires banked and embers bright, giving the low, dark room a ghostly glow. In a matter of hours, the chefs would be up again- baking bread, making breakfast and overseeing the morning deliveries. But for now, all was silent and the building itself seemed to revel in the short-lived peace.

Lance slipped out into the herb garden and through the door in the palace wall, and found himself, for the first time in months, free.

It was disappointing; the air didn’t smell sweeter; the birds weren’t louder. The breeze moved with the same tired complacency and the stars shone with the same cold curiosity as always. But there were two marked improvements; Lance was free, and Shiro stood by the kitchen door with the moonlight glinting off his mane.

Lance threw himself around his neck, burying his face in his dark fur. Shiro gave a soft grunt and snuffled against the side of Lance’s head fondly. _I love you,_ Lance wished he could say, _I’m glad I get to be with you._

They walked along the castle walls until they were away from the under the noses of the guards, and then walked in comfortable silence, Lance’s fingers knotted in Shiro’s mane. Shiro led him to the village graveyard, abandoned in the moonlight, the gravestones standing like silent sentries. And between them, under them, silver in the dark: nettles. Hundreds of them, thousands even.

Lance gasped, clinging tighter to Shiro. He would be able to finish the coat. He would be able to break the curse. Tears sprung to his eyes as he crouched to wind his arms around Shiro’s neck, hugging him tightly. Shiro nudged him, urging him into looking up, up at three shadows winding out from between the gravestones, wings spread and bodies sinuous in the dark. Lance let out another gasp, a disbelieving sob, a thrilled, ringing laugh.

Pidge, Hunk and Keith bounded between the gravestones, cannoning into Lance and burying him in a flurry of limbs and wings. Lance went down laughing, clinging to mane and fur and whatever he could reach. He sat up, wrapping his arms around each of the lions, eyes shining with tears as they settled their wings around him in a soft embrace.

Shiro was the first to turn, letting out a few pained grunts as bones snapped into place and wings shrunk, and he wrapped Lance in his arms and drew him up for a long, lingering kiss. The others whooped and cheered, making Lance flush brightly.

“About time.” Hunk grinned as the two broke apart. Shiro just laughed. “You really think that’s the first time I’ve kissed him?”

Pidge gave an overdramatic gasp of surprise, her every word dripping in sarcasm. “Oh my! How did we never realize?”

Keith looked from Hunk, to Pidge, to Shiro and Lance in each other’s arms. “Wait, you two are together?”

Laughter filled the graveyard, rising up to the silver moon and the thousands of stars, and Lance’s heart felt lighter than it ever had within the castle walls.

 

They picked the nettles together, the others grumbling and yelping whenever they were stung by the bristles. Lance, hands rough and hardened, felt nothing at all. _CAN DO ALONE,_ he signed to Shiro, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “We’re helping.” He said firmly. “I know it’s important to you.”

Lance could have thrown himself at him if he didn’t have an armful of stinging nettles.

It took only minutes for Lance to have enough nettles to finish the coats, stuffed into the cloth bag slung over his shoulder. Hunk was picking up his nettle coats, admiring them. “This is what you’ve been working on for so long?”

Lance nodded.

“Why?” Hunk couldn’t seem to help but ask once again. He had asked so often Lance had lost count. He shrugged. Why indeed.

“Let’s go.” Keith urged, tearing Pidge and Hunk away from admiring the nettle coats. “I can feel the transformation coming on. Lance, one of us will take you. Let’s get out of here. I have a bad feeling.”

“Alright.” Shiro agreed. “Lance, pack up everything you need.” Lance nodded, folding the nettle coats neatly to place into the top of his pack. He slung it over his back. Shiro extended a hand and then suddenly went very, very still. Next to him, Keith sniffed the air with sudden fear in his eyes.

“I smell something.” Keith whispered. “Someone…”

“DOWN!” Shiro shouted, seconds before an arrow zipped above their heads. Cursing filled the air as everyone dropped to the ground as more arrows were released. “GET TO COVER!” Shiro yelled, and Lance made for the gravestones, crouching behind the closest, heart pounding, breath ragged.

There were other voices too, excited and strange, and cutting above them, a voice far too familiar. “Soldiers!” The familiar voice yelled. “Close in! Get him before they can escape!”

_Lotor._

Shiro was just next to him, Hunk and Pidge crouched a short distance away. _RUN!_ Lance tried to sign desperately, but Shiro didn’t even look at him, crouched painfully tense, features contorted in a grimace. Lance’s heart skipped a beat.

They were transforming. They were helpless.

And the soldiers were closing in fast, feet crunching on the gravel and grass of the graveyard, swords raised high.

Lance realized several things very quickly.

Lotor wanted him, and him only.

The others would be killed and called collateral damage.

His friends were defenceless.

And he had no choice.

Lance stood up.

The volley of arrows stilled.

“Lance!” Shiro choked out next to him, heaving for breath as his muscles contorted and bones reshaped. _RUN,_ Lance signed again, and stepped towards the soldiers.

They stepped away before him, as if scared, but at least they were ignoring the others now, gazes and weapons following Lance as he strode towards Lotor with his head held high.

Lotor’s eyes and smile gleamed in the moonlight, cold and silvery and threatening. “Lance,” He said smoothly. “Finally I know your name. And your betrayal.”

 _I haven’t betrayed anyone._ Lance bit his tongue before he could defend himself. He was so, so close.

“You!” Lotor shouted at the soldiers. “Keep an eye on his monsters! And you,” He turned back to Lance, and grabbed his arms in a tight hold as another soldier snapped heavy manacles around them. “You are under arrest for treason and plotting against the crown. You will return to the palace until your fate is decided.”

Lance’s heart plummeted with the cold iron closing around his wrist, but Lotor didn’t give him time to panic as he grabbed at the chains between his wrists.

Behind them, a growl rose on the night air. Lance whipped around.

Shiro stalked between the graves, and behind him the others, wings spread threateningly wide, teeth bared. Lance’s heart soared for a brief, brief instance, only to plummet again as next to him, a dozen archers raised their bows.

Shiro’s hackles rose, his growl rumbling louder until the graveyard seemed to shake with it. For a moment, Lance feared they would attack despite the arrows trained on them, but in that same instant, the fear was chased away at the edge of cold iron coming up against his throat.

“Leave!” Lotor shouted, too close to Lance’s ear, pulling him up close as he pressed the knife tighter to Lance’s throat. “Or I kill him.”

Lance hardly dared to breathe, just watched his friends with wide, desperate eyes, watching the fight go out of Shiro’s limbs.

 _FLY._ He signed. Shiro didn’t move. _FLY!_ He signed again, and finally, with one last, lingering look, the lions turned and flew, and Lance was alone.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the last one after all! The next one will be though!
> 
> Imprisoned and alone... how will he get out of this one?

Time in the dungeons of Altea passed sluggishly slow. The cell had a single window, small and too high for Lance to see anything but the gradually lightening sky outside.

Lotor had pushed him into the cell without much in way of an explanation. Lance was still chained with his arms behind his back, and even though he had been searched for weapons, Lotor made no move to undo the manacles.

“I will bring Allura to see you in the morning.” The Captain of the Guard announced, and then slammed the door, leaving Lance alone in the cell with his arms beginning to cramp.

Lance tried, at first, to sleep, just to while away the time, but his attempts remained fruitless. The cell was too cold and too damp, and the future too uncertain for rest. The smell of rotting straw crept into his nose until his head ached, and finally, he gave up and settled with watching the sky lighten through the bars.

Allura arrived just as the drip was fading into the background and the smell of hay no longer sent his head pounding and reeling. Lance had almost managed to fall into an unrestful doze when her commanding voice broke him out of his lull.

“You left him here the whole night? Are you _insane?”_

Lotor’s mumbled apology was barely audible, but Allura’s answer rang clear and icily sharp. “Well, I think _this_ qualifies as an emergency, Captain.”

She finally came into view around the corner, Lotor and Coran rushing to keep up. Lance sat up to pick out the straw in his hair and straighten his clothes, fully prepared to throw himself upon Allura’s mercy.

“There you are!” She gasped as she saw Lance. She turned to Lotor, hand outstretched. “Keys.” She demanded.

“Princess,” Lotor implored, “he’s a dangerous criminal…”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Allura replied tartly. “If you could imprison him, you can protect me. Keys. Now.”

Lotor handed them over with a grumble. The iron screeched as Allura pulled the door open. “Are you alright?” She asked immediately, sinking to her knees with no care for the damp and grubby straw on the ground. Lance nodded.

“Lotor told me what happened, or… his version. I wish I could hear yours…” She sighed. “I know you can understand me.”

Lance nodded.

“Can you…” her voice lowered to a whisper. “Speak?”

Lance shook his head and some noise broke out from deep in her throat, something like a choked, angry sob. “Could you?” She asked, voice cracking. “If you wanted to?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Lance nodded.

“If there ever was a moment, this is it.” She urged, taking his hand. “I need you to speak. I need you to tell me the truth.”

There was still hope, Lance reminded himself. As long as there was still hope, he would not break. He shook his head. Allura sighed. “I feared so.” She said. “Lotor told me your name is Lance? Is that correct?”

Lance nodded, and the smile that brightened Allura’s face was overwhelming. Lotor planted a firm hand on her shoulder and leaned in. “Did you betray the Princess?” He asked. Lance shook his head in mute horror. _Never._

Lotor scoffed. “He’s lying.” He said. “He’s been consorting with dark magic for months. I _saw_ him in the graveyard, surrounded by terrible creatures equal parts magic and human. I saw them gathering plants for his dark magic. I’ve seen him spying and plotting. He’s a traitor, and quite possibly an assassin.”

“Lotor.” Allura held up a hand. “That will do. I will admit that it does not look in your favour, Lance. I trust Lotor, but even my most trusted general can make mistakes.” She threw a withering glance in Lotor’s direction. “Like not calling me immediately when one of my friends turns out to be a murderous assassin.”

Lotor huffed as if they had had this discussion many, many times before.

“Lance.” Allura said firmly. “If you would deign to speak, it would look very good for your case.”

Lance shook his head. Allura pursed her lips. “Very well.” Her words were shattering ice. Lance had never faced her anger before, and he withered under it.

“I hope you tell the truth. I may not know the difference, but our magicians will, so it is in your best interest to be truthful from the start. Have you been consorting with these… strange creatures?”

Lance nodded, hesitant. The lines around Allura’s mouth grew tight.

“Creatures of dark magic, as Lotor described them?”

Lance hesitated. Were they…? Haggar’s magic was dark, yes, but his friends? He shook his head. The tension lifted from Allura’s shoulders and she breathed out slowly. “Well, at least that.” She muttered. “Have you plotted to hurt me?”

Lance shook his head. Allura looked almost happy, and Lance could practically taste his freedom, but with her next words, it burned to ashes on his tongue.

“Have you plotted to hurt anyone else in this castle?” Allura continued. Cold ice ran down Lance’s back. “Lord Lubos, for instance?” Lotor broke in. Allura glared at him.

Lance hesitated. Honesty, that was what Allura wanted. He had no doubts his lies would be uncovered no matter what.

With minute, terrible slowness, in the same pace of the dripping, stinking water of the cell, Lance nodded his head.

Allura drew in a breath so sharp Lance feared she might be choking. He couldn’t look at her, her disappointment or fear or anger… instead his eyes were drawn back to that tiny window of sky far above. Freedom, slipping further away by the second.

“Lotor,” Allura’s voice held a distance Lance had never had to hear before. “The weapons.”

A heavy bundle crashed to the ground, knives and daggers, intricate with tips no larger than needles or large and wickedly curved. Lance knew them all, the curves of their handles, the weight of the metal. “Are these yours?” Allura asked. Lance nodded slowly, fighting the urge to reach for them. He couldn’t hurt Allura, nor Coran. He couldn’t.

“Lance.” Allura’s voice broke, and finally Lance looked into her face. Tears sparkled in her lovely eyes. Her brow was creased with worry. “Why would you need all these weapons?”

Lance stayed mute. Allura heaved in a rattling breath, holding back tears. “I suppose Lotor was right.” She said slowly, as if speaking to fast would break her careful composure. “You will come before the court and say… share what you have shared with us. Until then, I shall have Coran transfer you to a room more comfortable.”

She gulped audibly. “I’m sorry, Lance.” Her voice broke again and her tears spilled over. “And I hope you are too.”

She fled the cell, visibly fighting not to break into a run, keeping her composure. Lotor gathered up the weapons and followed her at a run. Coran stayed, watching Lance.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Coran sighed slowly. “I’m sorry, my boy.” He whispered, and closed the door with a bang.

 

Coran had him out of the damp cell less than an hour later, handcuffed and marched by guards to one of the towers. People stared as they walked past, courtiers whispered, servants stopped in their tracks. He knew what he must look like; the feral boy, finally gone mad, finally done wrong, finally snapped as was predestined.

Lance held his chin high and refused to be intimidated.

The tower room Coran led him to had only one tiny, barred window high up on the wall, but it was dry and warm, and there was a bed in a corner. Lance was so grateful he could have cried. Instead he simply nodded in mild approval. Coran reached down to undo his manacles.

“Remember, my boy.” He started. “This is a show of trust, of mercy. Do not betray Allura’s faith in you. Do not mistake this for leniency.” His face was unreadable. “The royal court will hear your defence tomorrow. I hope that we can prove your innocence. For your sake, and for Allura’s. She is fond of you… as am I.” The severe lines of his face softened, his moustache twitching in a pale attempt at a smile. “There will be guards stationed at the door and at the foot of the tower. Don’t attempt to escape. Rest up; if you are innocent you have nothing to fear.”

Lance’s heart fell. And what if he was guilty?

“One more thing.” Coran pulled a cloth bundle from behind his back and pressed it into Lance’s hands. “I thought this might bring you some comfort.”

Coran was gone before Lance could open the bundle. The door crashed shut behind him and locked audibly, and Lance was alone.

With a shuddering sigh, Lance turned to the cloth bundle in his hands and let the folds fall open.

His knees went weak.

He held his nettle shirts in his arms, three complete and one with a loose thread of nettles hanging from the unfinished end. Tucked into the folds were needles, and the nettles he had picked from the graveyard, carefully worked into nettle thread finer than he had ever used before.

Lance felt tears rise to his eyes and stifled a sob into his fist.

He had hope again.

 

Lance worked at a furious pace, not pausing for anything. Slowly, too slowly, the last nettle coat took shape under his hands. The needles and thread cut up his hands once again, almost as bad as they had at the very beginning, until blood stained the stitches red.

He worked until he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and collapsed onto the soft bed in the corner. He didn’t want to sleep long, he reminded himself, just a quick nap, just until he was able to keep going, but the next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by a solemn-looking guard.

“Come with me,” the guard said firmly. “You have been summoned to defend yourself before Queen Allura.”

Lance’s heart was thudding in his chest, his throat tight and head still fuzzy with sleep. In a haze, he reached for the nettle coat and needles by the bedside. The guard stopped him. “I can’t allow you to bring those.”

Lance onto the needles tighter, but the soldier just levelled him with a stern glance. “Failing to appear before the Queen will not do you any favours. Now, drop those needles and follow me.”

Lance glared up at the guard, taller, broader and better armed than him, and, with gritted teeth, let the needles sink to the floor. The guard nodded approvingly. “Hands forward.” He demanded, clamping the manacles and chains back around Lance’s wrists when he complied.

 

It was the first time Lance had seen the throne room in the light of day, and the hall was a sight to behold. Light poured in through stained-glass windows, setting the marble floor ablaze with light. The tapestries and portraits shone in rich colours, and brightest of all was Allura, resplendent and solemn in her throne.

Courtiers milled among the pillars, murmuring in hushed voices, watching as Lance was marched down the carpeted hall, handcuffed and flanked by armed guards. Lance held his head high and strode down their midst as if he wasn’t in chains and on trial.

Next to Allura at the very end of the throne hall, three trusted advisors clustered around a table, muttering amongst each other. One her other side, a young blonde woman in the clothing of a royal mage fussed over her runes. Next to her stood Lotor. Lance would have expected him to be smirking, proud of his triumph, but his face was solemn and stony.

Lance was brought to a halt a few steps before the throne, and a hush fell. At the table, Coran cleared his throat awkwardly. “You have been brought here on charges of treason against the Queen.” He began, voice scratchy with emotion. “You were imprisoned by Lord Lotor, Captain of the Guard, and now have the chance to defend yourself. Do you accept this privilege?”

Silence fell over the vast hall, silence so complete it didn’t seem possible. The throne room was so quiet you could hear the guards outside the hall, the servants hurrying past beyond the walls of the hall, the faint sounds of the market from beyond the palace gates.

The courtiers stood motionless, hardly daring to breathe. Everyone’s eyes were on Lance; curious, eager. Allura watched him with carefully restrained sadness, face sombre, the faintest trace of a frown forming between her eyebrows.

Lance remained silent.

Coran sighed and cleared his throat again, throwing Lance one last, pleading glance before plowing on. “Would you care to state your name to the court?” He asked. The silence was less tense now, and as Lance remained silent a whisper started across the hall, rushing through the stands.

Coran was stuttering now, fumbling, falling over his words. “H-have you, the… the accused, ever attempted or i-intended to harm the Queen?”

Lance stared at him, trying to convey some kind of apology, some kind of thanks for his kindness. Next to Allura, the blonde woman spoke up. “A nod will do. I will know if you are lying.”

Lance shook his head. The blond woman’s Altean marks glowed blue for a second, and then she spoke. “Truth.” She said simply, voice ringing through the halls. The whispers increased in volume, frantic now as the courtiers bustled.

Another advisor seemed to take pity on Coran and continued the interrogation. “Have you ever attempted or intended to harm another member of the royal court?”

Allura watched him, unable to keep the pain from her face any longer. Coran turned, unable to meet his eyes. Lance looked at the blonde woman, and slowly nodded.

A roar rose through the hall, cresting ever higher, a chorus of anger and sudden fear rippling through the royal court like a sudden fever. The blonde woman’s marks glowed and her voice rang out, cutting through the noise. “Truth!” She called out, and the roar climbed higher.

One of Allura’s advisors banged on the table, restoring a restless order, a low murmur like a river running resting under the pillars of the roof. “Must we continue?” The advisor demanded. “Isn’t this proof enough for you?”

Allura held up a hand, and suddenly the silence was complete again, the crowd motionless. “No.” She said, calmly, slowly, with a detached clarity. “I want more proof. I cannot decide a fate so rashly.”

Coran picked up the questioning again, voice wavering only slightly. “Have you conspired with the enemies of Altea?”

Lance shook his head.

“Truth.”

“Have you sold or shared the secrets of Queen Allura or the royal court with those who wish to harm us?”

Lance shook his head.

“Truth.”

The questioning continued, the crowd going restless as Lance nodded and shook his head, appearing guilty or less guilty in turns. Finally the questions stopped, the royal advisors remained silent and Allura cleared her throat. A murmur rushed through the cavernous hall.

“Wait!”

Lotor strode forward from his place by Allura’s side. Lance watched, wide-eyed. Was Lotor going to admit he had been wrong? Could help come from such an unexpected place?

Then Lotor drew an item out of the folds of his cloak, and Lance’s burgeoning hope choked under a sudden, cloying fear.

“Can you tell me what this is?” Lotor asked, waving around an ink-black feather. Lance didn’t answer, but Allura did. “A feather.” She said calmly. “An unusually large one. How is this important enough for you to interrupt the case, Captain?”

Lotor turned to her with a winning smile and confidence in every line of his body. “This feather, my Queen, was found among many others in this traitor’s chambers. You have asked if he has conspired with the enemy, asked if he has plotted against you. But you forgot one of my accusations, one that would have _terrible_ implications.” He turned to Lance with a dramatic flourish of his coat. “Black magic is illegal in Altea, you see.” His voice boomed across the hall. “I understand you are an outsider, and unfamiliar with our customs, but _black magic?”_ He tutted. “Barbaric and dangerous. Romelle!” He turned to the blonde woman commandingly. “Please do tell the court, is this feather magical or not?”

Lance’s heart fell like a stone.He could only watch, silent and cuffed, as the mage took the feather from Lotor’s hands.

“It is magical.” She said slowly, and her voice sank to a stunned whisper. “It is powerful magic. Black magic.”

The roar of the crowd could have split the rafters, but Lance didn’t hear it. He heard only his own heartbeat, pounding away in his chest. The tumult around him was distant. All that existed was the ice flooding his veins, the smug smirk Lotor should have worn from the beginning, and Allura and Coran staring at him as if he was something horrible, as if he had betrayed their trust and their hospitality by bringing down ruin upon them all.

Finally, Allura raised her hand.

Silence fell.

“Lance.” She said. There was no warmth in her voice, no kindness, no calm. It cut like ice. “Lion boy. For treason and the use of dark magic, you are hereby sentenced to death. The execution will be in two days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am.   
> So sorry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the execution has come. Will the lions appear on time? Can Lance still save himself and his friends?

Lance worked tirelessly the moment he was back in his chambers, not pausing to eat, hardly pausing to sleep. Time passed in sluggish monotony, unable to break through his concentration so everything blended together eternally until he no longer had any idea when his fate awaited him.

Very briefly, he entertained the idea of escape, and even briefer, the idea of rescue, but both were hopeless. He was in a tower in the palace complex, guarded by armed soldiers and, after the trial, by Altea’s most powerful mages. He had no way of getting a message to allies, and no allies except for his friends, stuck in the bodies of wild animals and quite possibly miles away.

So why did he keep working? He did not know. He had only hope, hope that they would show up, hope that he could break the curse and with it the spell that lay on him and forced him into silence.

And work was what he did.

He didn’t know when Allura came to visit him, so engrossed in his work that he hadn’t noticed the time passing, only that at one point, the door creaked open and she entered, the blonde mage from before at her side.

Lance looked up for only a second before resuming his knitting. The tower room was silent.

“Lance.” Allura said finally, and Lance had sworn he wouldn’t stop for anything, but at the sound of her voice, cracking right down the middle with a fresh kind of hurt, he let the nettle cloth sink to the ground.

“I…” faced with his attention, Allura seemed suddenly lost for words, and Lance knew that she hadn’t really come to talk to him; simply to see him, to reassure herself that this was not a bad dream, to remind herself to let go.

“I don’t understand.” Allura choked out. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and Lance made to stand up, to move and hold her hands in his like he had so many times in their friendship, but the mage raised her arms threateningly, and Lance sat back down.

He was the enemy now.

“I need to understand.” Allura said slowly, breathing deeply. “Why did you betray me? I thought..” Her voice broke. “I thought you were happy.”

Lance couldn’t stand to look at her and say nothing, so he turned away and back to his work. Allura’s laugh was cold and hollow. “Of course.” She audibly struggled to hold back tears. “I don’t know what I expected. I don’t know why I bothered.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You don’t care who you hurt, do you?”

Lance stayed silent, but even if he had spoken, he wouldn’t be able to stop Allura from turning and gliding out of the tower room, the door slamming behind her.

 

The guards stood at his door the next morning as the first rays of light spun through the tower window to paint cheerful patterns on the floor.

Lance wasn’t done.

He was weaving frantically, desperately, getting sloppy as his hands shook. The weaved ends kept unravelling in his hand. The last nettle shirt had a half-completed back. Three others sat neatly folded next to him. Lance’s hands were bleeding, his fingers trembling.

The shirt had a half-completed back.

The guards were stony-faced, their uniforms spotless. They moved and spoke with the kind of solemnity and ceremony that Lance was familiar with from the Blades. Killing was easier done with ceremony. Ritual killing was easy.

Lance cooperated. There wasn’t much else he could do but stand up, clutching his nettle coats to his chest, allow himself to be handcuffed. Only when they tried to take his work did he resist, clutching his coats tighter, with trembling, bleeding hands, knobby and calloused.

“Let him be.” One of the guards finally said. “Leave him whatever comfort he can get.”

They marched him from the tower room with his hands bound and his feet shackled. The palace was abandoned but for a few servants watching silently from the corners with apprehension in their eyes, taught with fear as if ready to run the moment Lance showed any indication of fighting, unleashing his terrible dark powers.

Lance wondered where everyone was, and why. Had Allura, hoping to spare Lance any humiliation she could, cleared the corridors? Were the courtiers simply scared?

As the main palace doors swung open, Lance realized how wrong he had been.

The square in front of the palace was simply flooded with the sounds and smells of the entirety of Altea gathering. People screamed and clamoured eagerly, crowding the square, lining the streets leading up to it, leaning out of windows and doorways. The courtiers and nobles crowded just as tightly on their viewing platforms, all dignity forgotten as they scrambled to see.

A hush fell over the crowd as Lance left the shadow of the palace gates. People stared, parents whispered to their children, guards bristled with sudden watchfulness.

The guards at his side tightened their grips on his arms as if warning him that any resistance, any attempt to escape, was futile. Lance didn’t even know where he could escape to.

He was led down the path in the middle of the crowd while people strained to see him, the crowd suddenly morbidly silent.

There was a pyre in the middle of the square, and, standing in front of it, Allura, flanked by Lotor and Coran and looking as if she was holding onto the last of her composure. She refused to look at Lance.

As he was led up the pyre, the crowd seemed to regain some of its confidence, some kind of security at the fact that he hadn’t yet fought, hadn’t yet shown any sign of dark magic.

“Burn the dark witch!” Someone shouted from the crowd, and others cheered and whistled.

The sound jerked Lance back to reality and, with trembling fingers, he picked up the nettle shirt.

Half the back was still missing he was being pressed to the pole, and the lions were nowhere in sight.

The guards began winding chains and ropes around his legs and torso and Lance let them, fighting back only when they tried to restrain his arms.

“Leave him!” Allura called out, so softly the crowd didn’t hear her in the clamour, but the guards obeyed, and Lance worked on. They tied his shoulders, his torso and legs, piled the wood up high around him. Lance was trembling, blind and deaf to the world around him, focused only on the thread in his hands, the pull of the rope against his thighs. He didn’t realize he was crying until the tears spotted the nettle shirts, and he didn’t pause to wipe them away.

His concentration was broken only by the first, distant touch of heat. He looked up in horror.

The guards had lit the torch, others busy stuffing straw into the cracks between the logs at Lance’s feet.

His heart skipped a beat. He turned his head desperately, hoping to catch some distant glimpse, a bird that was too big, a feline face on the rooftops, but the sky was empty and blue.

Had his hope been misplaced?

If he spoke now, could he even stop this from happening? Lance didn’t even know if he would be able to speak if he tried, all sound stuck in his throat, his breath dry and shallow. The guard slowly, purposefully lowered the flame.

Ritual killing.

The crowd roared in excitement. Lance took one deep breath and closed his eyes.

He would not speak. He would not scream.

He didn’t.

The crowd did.

Their shouts of excitement changed pitch sharply, suddenly, turning to screams of horror. Lance’s eyes snapped open, heart pounding as far above him, the rush of wings sounded through the air, drowning out even the roars and screams of the crowd.

A rumbling, shuddering roar tore through the air, and there they were. Four brightly coloured lions, huge and terrifying, wings spreading vast shadows over the crowd.

Lance looked up with tears streaming down his face.

Hope.

The guards dropped their torches to pull their swords instead. The nobles screamed. Out of the corner Lance saw Lotor pushing Allura behind himself, saw Coran grabbing her arm to pull her to safety. Chaos struck with suddenness, before the lions’ paws had even touched the ground.

Lance, on top of a pyre ready to be lit, with chains encircling his limbs and screams echoing around him, picked up his knitting.

Around him, the panic swept the crowd up in a rushing wave. People pushed to get out as fast as possible while the guards closed in on the lions. They held their own, pushing back with sharp teeth and claws, huge wings and raw strength winning out against steel. Still, Lance knew it was only a matter of time. The guards lining the square where but a fraction of Allura’s troops, and Lance knew that even now, more of them were rallying beyond the palace walls. His bleeding, trembling hands flew as he worked, nervously watching the scene unfold all around him.

Despite their success, all the lions were bleeding from nicks and scrapes, feathers torn from wings fluttering and burning in the dying torches lying scattered. Steel clashed, and above the din, the lions roared and growled and howled in pain. If Lance only had a bit more time…

The lions had managed to place themselves between him and the guards by now, defending him in a wide circle. Directly before him, Shiro brought down soldier and soldier, eyes feral, completely unhindered by the missing front leg. Suddenly, the guards parted, falling back from Shiro. The lion paused, panting and unsure, every muscle tense with wariness. The guards parted, making way for a solitary figure, glittering in resplendent armour, sword dangling with loose confidence.

Lotor.

Shiro recognized him only an instant after Lance did and snarled, the sound rumbling in Lance’s very bones. Shiro’s wings flared wide, the feathers fluffing. His tail twitched. Lotor gave a lazy smirk, moving with all the calm in the world.

They circled each other slowly, in their own silent world as around them, chaos reigned. Those that had reached safety in houses and upon walls watched with bated breath as the two opponents, matched in feline grace, circled.

Lotor struck. He leapt forward, into Shiro’s space, hoping to slip under his defences but forgetting how that would put him in range of the snapping teeth. He leaped back and they circled again, slowly, ever so slowly, until Shiro struck, lashing with a huge wing. Lotor rolled, came back up and immediately swung his sword. The circle of calm broke, all frantic movement as the two dodged and lunged, equally matched as could be. Lance just knitted with renewed fervour.

For a moment, the fight faded into background noise as Lance focused only on the nettle threads in his hands, those last threads, just barely too late.

Excited shouting broke him out of his trance.

Lotor, to the excitement of the Alteans, had taken advantage of Shiro’s missing leg, pushed him off balance and set him stumbling. He closed in, but already Shiro was back on his feet, snapping. Lotor swiped at a wing, Shiro reared back, and Lance’s blood ran cold.

It was a feint. Lance could do nothing but watch as Shiro rose to his hind paws, his entire front exposed, and Lotor shouldered into him, sending him onto his back with a sickening crunch as his wings folded under him. Lance could do nothing but scream and tear at the iron chains binding him, hands clenched around the nettle coats, as Lotor aimed his sword straight at Shiro’s heart.

The world narrowed to the nettle coats in Lance’s hand, the broken feathers strewn around Shiro’s limp form, the glittering sword in Lotor’s hand, the fear in Shiro’s eyes. His needles hung limp, the shoulder of the last nettle coat still missing.

Lance was too late. The hope he had clung to all this time lay poised for death at the tip of Lotor’s sword. But it was still there, small and desperate, clinging to life with the last of its strength, and it was that tiny, crumbling hope that led Lance to pull his needles from the final nettle coat and throw them aside.

He didn’t know what would happen, had never thought about it before, but if there was any chance to save his friends, his Shiro, he had to take it. He had to seize that last, desperate, dying shred of hope.

One hand clutched the glowing blue brooch the dream king had given him long ago. The other threw the nettle coats high in the air, where they spread out, pulsing with the same blue glow as the brooch. The lions, the citizens of Altea, all watched in sudden, shocked silence as around Lance, the chains melted away and the glowing nettle coats spun to settle on the shoulders of the lions.

Nothing happened, the blue glow fading, the Alteans muttering among themselves as they drew away in sudden fear. Even Lotor was still.

Lance raised the hand holding the brooch, not knowing how or why, as if some older, more powerful entity were acting through him. He lifted the brooch high into the air and crushed it in his palm like a dry leaf.

A crack sounded through the air, like cobblestones breaking, like the walls crumbling, sharp and sudden and echoing with something that could surely only mean destruction.

The lions howled as one, sounds of pain so very, very human from their feline mouths. Their bones cracked, their feathers shrunk, transforming like they had so many times, but so much more painful, as if this last transformation was fighting them every step of the way.

Another crack, a crack that was no longer just sound. It was a sudden tear in the world, tearing across sight and sound alike.

When Lance’s vision returned, the lions were gone. The figures shrouded in the nettle coats were human, groaning in pain as they stretched their new arms and legs, felt their sore muscles reshape. Hardly daring to breathe, Lance turned to Shiro.

He was crouched, heaving in pain, but human, truly, blessedly human except for the mangled, broken wing extending from the black fur of his shoulder blade.

Lance could have cried with joy.

All of Altea was silent for a long, stunned moment.

And then Lotor raised his sword and drove it into Shiro’s unprotected shoulder.

The silent dam broke into sudden chaos, people screaming and frantically trying to flee the scene. Lance wanted to scream too, stumbling off the pyre open-mouthed, but no sound came out. It was as if he had forgotten how. He ran to Shiro, stumbling and falling and wrapping his arms around him, ignoring the blood. _Shiro,_ he mouthed silently. His eyes were glazed over with pain as he looked up at Lance, and the smallest of smiles spread over his face. He raised a hand to Lance’s face, caressed his cheek with infinite gentleness. “Lance.” He croaked. “You…”

Lance was crying, he realized, tears streaming down his face as he gripped Shiro’s shoulders, pulled him closer, his blood soaking Lance’s fine clothes. “Shiro.” He croaked finally, his voice cracking in the middle, raw and hoarse with disuse. “I love you.” He croaked, the words hurting as they crawled out, shredding his throat raw. Shiro smiled, thumb stroking over Lance’s cheekbone with a steady calm, the pain hidden behind his eyes. “I love you too.” He whispered. “Thank you.”

“Stand aside.” Lotor’s voice interrupted. Lance looked up with slowly mounting dread.

Lotor stood above them, armour gleaming, blood dripping from his sword. “Stand aside.” He repeated. “Or I won’t spare you.”

Lance just clung to Shiro tighter, glaring at Lotor with defiance. The captain of the guard lifted his sword in a lazy arc. “Very well.” He said.

“STOP!”

The words echoed around the palace square, commanding and powerful, the certain voice of someone who was used to being obeyed. The entire square turned as one.

Allura strode forward between rows of soldiers, furious, her every step crackling with commanding anger. “Do _not_ hurt them.” Her voice was sharp ice. “How dare you hurt an unarmed man.” She turned to the guards slowly gathering around her. “Arrest the strangers and the mute.” She ordered. “Have them attended by doctors.”

Lotor’s sword slowly sank to the ground, and Allura turned to him with lightning flashing in her eyes. “Arrest Captain Lotor too, for abuse of power and harming an unarmed civilian. And you,” Her voice held no affection as she turned to Lance, just cold anger. “I hope you’re ready to talk.”

 

Lance sighed as his chamber doors closed behind him, rolling his shoulders under his armour. The sunset filtered through the stained glass of the balcony doors, patterning the floor in brilliant blues and greens and pinks. He unbuckled his sword belt with a sigh, letting the weapon fall onto his bed and pushing open the balcony door.

He had lived in Altea for a year now, finally free of breaking the curse. He was no longer the feral boy whispered about by courtiers. He was an advisor to the crown, a diplomat and a friend to the Queen. The title of boy who talked to lions still followed him around the halls, but at least Allura had managed to put a stop to talk about black magic, about demon pacts and blood sacrifices.

He was safe, and he was home. His friends were safe, their curse finally broken. There was only one thing missing.

The door to his room creaked open behind him, and Lance relaxed with a soft smile as steps sounded on the balcony.

“Hello, my love.” Shiro wrapped around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hello darling.” Lance leaned into the embrace, turning his head to capture Shiro’s lips in his with a content hum. “How was your day?”

“Oh, the same as always.” Shiro fiddled with the straps of Lance’s armour and Lance lifted his arms, allowing Shiro to remove the heavy plating. “A lot of planning for our march against the Galra. Lotor being an ass.”

“Is he still bitter that you outrank him now?” Lance smiled, turning around and absentmindedly caressing the soft wing spreading from Shiro’s shoulder. “He’s lucky all Allura did was demote him.”

“I suppose it feels like a blow to have someone he sees as a traitor give the orders now.” Shiro shrugged. “Let’s not think about him now.” His hands wrapped around Lance’s waist with ease as he leant down to kiss him gently. “I’m just glad to be here, with you.”

“So am I.” Lance sighed happily. “I love you, Shiro.”

“And I you.” Shiro replied softly. Lance sank into his arms gladly, pillowing his head against his chest. He had fought so long for this. Peace, a home, happiness. His love in his arms. He had fought and he had won, and now he had the rest of his life to enjoy his spoils. Now they could finally live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, ending a fairytale retelling with "And they lived happily ever after"? It's more likely than you think!!!
> 
> THANK YOU ALL! Thank you for reading and commenting and helping me write this fic <3 I can't believe I started it before Voltron ended... come to think of it, I can't believe Voltron has ended and there's still people reading and loving this fic! It's been great writing this story, and I can't believe it's over. I hope the ending satisfies :D
> 
> I didn't really find a place to clarify without it sounding stiff, so: Lotor was demoted after injuring Shiro, Lance explained everything to Allura obviously, and now Shiro is on track to being Captain of the Guard. And that's how we leave them, happy and in love.

**Author's Note:**

> Talk to me on tumblr!
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> [beacon-of-joy](www.beacon-of-joy.tumblr.com)
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> This work will update whenever I can write a new chapter! So it might be slightly irregular depending on my schedule, but should be almost weekly.


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